by J. R. WRIGHT
“Your things will be brought to you here. Old chief says you will use lodge of Taloma.” He pointed to a tepee nearby. “Ojibwa girl, servant of Taloma, will now serve you and share lodge. She goes by the name Bright Moon.”
“I am grateful,” Luke signed in response.
With that, Spotted Horse turned through the crowd and disappeared. Luke heard his voice one more time, saying in part, “Go back to your chores and leave the white man in peace.” They were some of many words in Sioux he had understood throughout the conversation. Now it was evident the Lakhota dialect wasn’t that different from other Sioux languages he’d gotten to know over the past fifteen years of working with the Army. Acknowledging what Spotted Horse had said, the surrounding Indians began to disperse.
A lone brave brought Luke’s bedroll and food bag and dropped them at his feet. No sooner had they hit the ground than a beautiful young maiden picked them up and hurried into the tepee Spotted Horse had pointed out. He followed her in and found her arranging the bedroll on top of several buffalo robes.
Luke knew the ways of Indians and gathered that Spotted Horse’s invitation to stay over and the use of the tepee were not necessarily delivered out of kindness. There was no doubt in his mind that he was a prisoner and would be watched. And, had he refused the offer, he would have been tied and treated with much less civility. This was one of the many things he had learned from his old friend Pierre, and it had served him well.
Since he was a prisoner and, being so, dared not leave the tepee, Luke took this opportunity to catch up on some sleep he had missed out on the past three nights while trailing these people and stretched out on the bedroll.
It was near sundown when hunger brought him awake, and he looked around for his food bag. Sometime later, Bright Moon returned to the tepee with a steaming pot and two tin cups. “Ke-cho-na,” she said, but he already knew by the smell that it was Indian coffee, made from pine bark and various roots and herbs. It seemed no two villages made it the same, none of which he liked, and this was no exception. The water was hot enough, though, to add some of his coffee grounds to it for a better flavor. Upon seeing him do that, Bright Moon motioned she wanted some in her cup, so he accommodated her. One sip, however, and she spit it out, making a terrible face as she did so.
It was then that Luke noticed her blue eyes. He had no knowledge of the Ojibwa people, but had no doubt now that she was not all Indian. He remembered Pierre telling of various tribes across the border into Canada that were heavily mixed with French, therefore had blue-eyed people among them. “Where did you get those blue eyes?” he asked, signing as he did.
“Mother…” she said in plain English, to Luke’s surprise. “Mother blue eyes.”
“Who taught you English?”
“English, Taloma teach. Say Bright Moon must know. White man never stop coming.”
‘Wise woman,’ Luke thought. “Who taught Taloma?”
Bright Moon shrugged her shoulders and looked about as if trying to remember. Then when she turned back to him, Luke noticed that her eyes were filled with tears.
“Taloma die.”
With that, Luke reached into the food bag and came out with some leftover venison and a hard biscuit. He dunked the biscuit in his coffee as he ate. Seeing Bright Moon’s interest, he handed her a biscuit and watched as she dunked hers as well.
“Good,” she said after a time.
“Biscuit,” he said.
“Biscuit,” she repeated and looked at what remained of it. “Biscuit.”
He then handed her some venison and said, “Deer.”
She took a bite and said, “Good!”
“Deer,” he repeated.
“Deer good.”
“Hey, you’re smart,” Luke said and laughed.
“Bright Moon smart. Taloma say.”
“Yes. Very smart.”
“Very,” she said with a puzzled look on her face.
“Much,” he said.
“Much smart?”
“Yes, much smart,” he said, seeing now how this could be never ending.
Moments later Bright Moon said, “Very smart.” She had finally put it together.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning did not come soon enough for Luke. He was wide awake hours before daylight, anxious to conclude his business here. Even though so far all had gone well and been peaceful, he knew from experience how attitudes among these people could change with the drop of a hat. Any misinterpreted sign or action could bring trouble.
Bright Moon left the tepee at daybreak. Before long she returned with more of the Indian coffee. Again Luke added some of his own coffee to the cup. As a gesture of friendship, he offered her some. She refused by curling her upper lip. He had to laugh. She smiled back, her brilliant blue eyes never leaving him.
At mid-morning Spotted Horse lifted the flap and beckoned for Luke to come out. “The old chief, Brave Fox, is ready to talk,” he signed as he spoke in Lakhota.
Chief Brave Fox was in his tepee. In the semidarkness, Luke could see he was a small man and obviously very old. His long, unbraided hair was as white as snow.
“Come,” he said and motioned for Luke to sit.
“You speak my language?” Luke asked. Or was come the extent of it?
“White man’s tongue ee-dueu-hue (forbidden) in village. Many old ones here can speak it,” he said in English with a peppering of Lakhota. “My people did much trading with the white man in the great woods of the land of minni-sota (many lakes) a long time ago. Over the years they mixed with some of our women. I allowed only the pure among us to move onto the plains, after chiefs of the other tribes traded away our lands to Sharp Knife. The white man’s treaty was unfair. Lands were not for anyone to trade away. Many of us did not know of this dealing till told to move over. After that I did not want to be close to the whites any longer. I moved my people to cold, windy, prairie. No trees for shade in summer.
“Now we come to this place of paradise, where the streams still have the fish and the beaver. The fields have game, and the trees that reach to the heavens still have the birds that sing to old man while he naps. Now, you come to ask us to move over? Old chief too old and too wise to trade away this land and does not wish to share with white man. We see them come here, the ones with hair on their faces, to take buffalo just for the hides. We asked them to leave, but they return. Now we frighten them away with guns. They don’t come again.”
Brave Fox turned to Spotted Horse and spoke to him in Lakhota. Spotted Horse then turned to Luke and also spoke in a mixture of Lakhota and English.
“My chief had council with the other chiefs this morning. It is our decision to allow you to leave in peace. This is granted under the condition that you take word to Great White Father that our people are not to be bothered.”
“I will deliver your message,” Luke spoke and used signs so there was no confusion. “But I have no knowledge of anyone wanting you to leave this place.” He could have said a lot more, but decided it best to leave well enough alone. They had already decided to let him leave unharmed, why push his luck?
“Good,” the old chief said. Then, after a long pause, he continued, “In your eyes I see peace, as I do in the eyes of my only son. In his, I see the destiny of our people. Someday he will be chief of the Lakhota and must deal with the white man as he advances. My wish is for us to always live at peace, but not need to share this land, or mix the bloods of our peoples.
“Even now, as I sit, an Ojibwa woman of impure blood resides in our village. She is being touched by my son. She must go from here. I ask that you take her to the white man’s council. Ask them how she should be treated: as a white woman, or as a squaw. I fear two spirits fight for her soul. Such a mixture I do not want in my grandchildren.”
“I will do as you ask,” Luke readily agreed, knowing this favor would most certainly ensure his safe passage from here. Taking the girl, Bright Moon, was a small price to pay for his freedom, and possibly his life. With her
beauty, someone would surely take her for his woman once he reached civilization again. If not, he would leave her with the friendly Sioux tribes camped near Fort Laramie.
“I hear from Spotted Horse, the people of our village are calling you Apo. Is Dawn a name to your liking? Or do you prefer the name given to you by whites, of which my people will, most likely, never call you anyway?” The old chief smiled broadly, showing some missing teeth.
“The name is Tom Hill,” Luke returned. “Dawn will do fine, if they wish to call me that.”
“Hill?” the old chief said and made the cupping sign for a hill.
“Yes. The same.”
“I am in your debt, Hill, for carrying out my wish to be rid of the Ojibwa bitch. My village is open to you whenever you return,” the old chief said in a tired voice. He then lay over on his pallet of buffalo robes as if ready for a nap.
“Glad to be of help,” Luke returned, but received no recognition. Chief Brave Fox had already closed his eyes in preparation for sleep.
With that, Spotted Horse got to his feet, and as he did, gave the sign for kill. Did he mean for him to kill the Ojibwa girl? It was obvious he did.
“Your horses have been brought to you. You may leave once the girl is brought to you.”
Just as Luke was leaving the old chief’s lodge, the name Brave Fox came to mind again. It seemed now he had heard Beaver Charlie mention it once. Why hadn’t he made the connection before? But there was no time for that now. He must be concerned with high tailing it out of here above all else, at this juncture.
The horses were waiting as Spotted Horse said, but as yet, the girl was not present.
He noticed many of his things were missing from the pack horse. About all that remained were the pack saddle and a few cooking items. A young brave stood nearby holding one of the Hawken rifles.
“Gun no good,” he said in Lakhota. “No flint.” He then dropped it to the ground, along with the bullet bag and powder horn, before leaving.
Obviously they were not familiar with the percussion rifle, which used brass caps instead of flint. The other Hawken, Luke noticed, was still in its scabbard on the chestnut. But the big bore rifle Pierre had given him years ago was missing from the pack as well. He hadn’t had much use for it lately, but hated to see it gone nonetheless. It was the last remaining thing he had to remember his old friend by. In a friendly village, he would make a fuss when something like this happened. These people, however, he didn’t know well enough to pull a stunt like that. It may just get him killed.
Luke laced his bedroll and food bag to the pack saddle and arranged it all so Bright Moon would have a comfortable place to ride. Where was she anyway, he wondered? Perhaps busy saying her goodbyes.
Soon thereafter, a commotion sounded from the edge of the village. Luke turned and noticed several young braves bringing the Ojibwa maiden kicking and screaming toward him.
My god, he had no idea this was to be a forced removal. Why wasn’t he told? Once there, they laced her tightly to the pack saddle. A rawhide strap was even used to tie her feet together under the horse’s belly. In horror, he watched, wondering if this was the way the renegades had tied Breanne when they took her. When they were finished, he turned away, mounted the chestnut, and kicked her into motion.
Bright Moon’s wailings continued as they left the village. Luke held to a leisurely pace so as not to appear anxious to leave and pointed the horse toward the mountain valley trail he had come in on.
CHAPTER NINE
Once they were out of sight of the village, Luke kicked the chestnut to a lope and yanked at the lead rope of the bay. He kept the horses at this pace until they were fully lathered before easing them back to a trot.
Ten miles in, the trail narrowed, leaving only the shallow creek bed for passage through a narrow, rock walled canyon. High formations of granite towered above them, looking much different from this direction. At times Luke stopped and took a good look at where they’d been to assure himself he was on the same trail. In the narrowest passages, the sun was near completely blocked out, leaving him in blind darkness until his eyes adjusted.
Bright Moon, who had quieted to a miserable sob once they were out of earshot of the village, now seemed to be asleep in the saddle. Only when the horse she rode twisted to avoid obstructions or leaped a rock crevice did Luke notice her straighten and open her eyes briefly.
At sunset they reached the window rock Luke had noted on his map before. It was near there that he remembered eyeing the most desirable place to camp on the way up. It was a pine-shaded levee next to a creek where a number of trout had been landlocked after the flow from the spring thaws had subsided.
It was time they rested, both themselves and the horses, and Luke could think of no better place to do it. His back had begun to bother him, with all the twisting and jerking the chestnut dealt him throughout the day. And a meal of fresh fish from the cold mountain stream would be a welcome pleasure.
“Chaska kill white man when he comes for me,” Bright Moon said when Luke went to take her down from the pack horse at the levee.
“Who’s Chaska?”
“Son of chief.”
“Which chief?” Luke asked as he untied her bound hands from the front fork of the pack saddle. At this point, he was not at all concerned anyone was coming after them. If a rescue of Bright Moon was planned, he felt it would have been attempted long before now, at least twenty miles distant of the village.
“Brave Fox.”
Hearing that, Luke gave his attention to her. “How old is this Chaska?” The old chief had mentioned his son was touching the Ojibwa woman. That was the main reason he wanted her gone. But how could the old chief have a son so young to be of interest to this young woman? Brave Fox must be well over eighty. Luke worked at untying the straps that held her midsection to the back fork of the pack saddle.
She shrugged. “Chaska no old. Same Bright Moon.”
“But Brave Fox is old. How could he be the father?”
“Brave Fox not real father,” Bright Moon offered. “Taloma not real mother. Taloma tell Chaska that, before big hunt. Taloma die while Chaska gone. Chaska grieves for Taloma now. He not in village when white man take Bright Moon away.”
“He was adopted,” Luke spoke more to himself than to Bright Moon.
“He… adopted…?” she questioned the meaning of the word, then moved on as if it didn’t matter. “He comes now… Chaska come now.” She looked about as if wondering why he wasn’t already here.
“Aaaaaaaa Haaaaaaaaaa Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Her Indian love call echoed through the hills a thousand times in multiple successions as if the whole of the Paha Sapa had screamed it for her.
Luke jumped as if snake bit. “Don’t do that!” he scolded her. “I don’t want to have to hurt you! But I will if you do it again.”
“White man no hurt! Chaska kill!” she shouted and spit in his direction.
Earlier Luke had considered removing all of her bondages. At the time she seemed resigned to her fate. But now, after this show of contempt, he decided against it. He dared not chance her escape back to the village. He knew it would mean certain death for her. Perhaps even him, for failing his mission, if he ever he showed up in these parts again.
Once having freed Bright Moon of the ankle straps, Luke lifted her near effortlessly from the horse, carried her to a tree near the trout stream, and retied her in a sitting position.
After giving Bright Moon a drink of water from his canteen, freshly filled from the stream, he went to work building a fire.
The trout, in the near completely landlocked stream, were easily caught once the water calmed around Luke’s feet. It was merely a matter of scooping their slippery bodies onto the bank. Some managed to flop their way back into the water once thrown out, but Luke didn’t concern himself with that. He was having too much fun with the process. Even Bright Moon got into the act by using her feet to trap those that came her way, all the while laughing hysterically.
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br /> When Luke tired of it, there were plenty of fish for supper, as well as some for the trail. The ones intended for the upcoming meal would be roasted over flames and speared on green sticks, the others salted and smoked over hot coals throughout the night.
Bright Moon ate heartily using her fingers, even with her hands tied together, from a tin plate containing one of the forearm sized fish. Half way through it, however, she abruptly stopped. “Biscuit,” she said and glared at him.
Patiently, Luke sat his plate aside and went to the pack horse for the food bag. On the way, though, he got the notion the two of them were no longer alone. Perhaps it was the look on Bright Moon’s face when she asked for the biscuit. Daring not to look around for fear of alerting whoever may be out there, he proceeded normally until reaching the chestnut. Then he swiftly drew a Hawken from its scabbard on the horse and dashed for a huge pine tree nearby.
Unfortunately, he misjudged the direction from which the impending danger was coming. He never thought for a second it would arrive from anywhere except the narrow trail they had rode in on. To their backs was a sheer rock wall that shot skyward a good eighty feet. And across the creek, back a hundred feet, was another wall that did likewise.
But there he was, nonetheless, not fifty feet away. It was the blonde kid he had seen kill the final buffalo his first day into the hills.
Bright Moon screamed and pulled at the rawhide straps that tied her to the tree.
“Where in hell did you come from?” Luke said out of frustration. Now he realized Bright Moon had set him up by asking for the biscuit. She must have seen him there.
“You have my woman!” Chaska growled, pulled a shiny bladed knife, and assumed a crouched position for doing battle.
Luke recognized the bone handled Bowie knife as the one the brave had taken from him when captured. Now he wondered if there were more of them and looked high for another way into this rock cavity. Seeing nothing, he lowered the Hawken. “You’d best get on back to your village, boy. ‘Cause I’m taking this gal with me, just as your father asked.”
