Savage Arrow (18 page)

He flicked his reins and urged the horse faster, glad when he saw lamplight up ahead. It was his house, where he would be safe, providing he didn’t allow himself to go to sleep.

Only then did he realize the full horror of what he had done when he had taken that damnable silver from that damnable cave! He would never really be safe anywhere.

He leaped with alarm when at his left side he saw the flash of something white. To his astonishment, he
realized that it was a white wolf running alongside the gravel road that led to his house.

He gasped and drew rein when the wolf veered right and ran directly in front of the horse, causing it to stop and rear and snort and shake its head in obvious fear.

And then the wolf went on its way, a part of the night and its mysteries.

After getting his horse settled down, as well as his heart, Reginald drove the buggy to his house, his shoulders slumped, his head hanging.

“Where is it all to end?” he whispered, then began wheezing uncontrollably. He choked and gagged, then gasped in a breath of air.

When he saw Jade on the porch, seemingly watching for his return, he got a sudden soft feeling for the woman. She was the only one who had stuck with him through thick and thin.

After he left the horse and buggy in the stable, he went up the steps to the porch, gave Jade a nod of greeting.

But he could not bring himself to say anything kind to her, for he could not allow himself to get soft where the help was concerned.

“Get inside the house,” he grumbled, then walked past her and hurried to the privacy of his room.

He listened until he heard Jade go to her room, and then there was silence in the house.

He stared at the bed, and then at his closed door, then hurried out into the corridor and knocked on Jade’s door.

“Jade, prepare me some warm milk and be sure to
put quite a bit of sleeping potion in it,” he said. “I need my rest.”

Jade came from her room in her robe and slippers and edged past him, then hurried to the kitchen.

After warming the milk, she eyed the white powder that she had been told to put in his milk. Tonight might be a good night to give him all that he had and be done with him.

But she was too afraid to try. She poured in the right amount, took the milk to him, then went back to her room.

Hugging herself, she stood at the window, contemplating her next move. Somehow, she must get away from this place.

“Soon,” she whispered. “Lee-Lee, I will come for you soon. I promise. . . .”

Except for their concerns about Thunder Horse’s ailing father, happiness and contentment reigned in the village of the Fox clan.

It was the day after the hunt and all were home now . . . except for Thunder Horse; who had come home to check on his father, but seeing there was no change for the worse, had left again.

He had told Jessie that he had one more thing to do before joining those who were already celebrating the successful hunt. The women were preparing a feast around several outdoor fires. Some stood over huge kettles of soup, stirring them with their big horn spoons.

Rib roasts were piled high on wooden platters lined with arrowhead leaves and watercress. There were huge wooden bowls of cooked wild mushrooms, cane shoots, and Indian turnips.

For dessert, there was a choice of wild fruits: June berries, chokeberries, plums, and grapes. They would
be eaten fresh now, but what was left after today would be dried and stored for winter.

The air was alive with music and laughter. The ailing retired chief had given everyone his blessing to enjoy the day. He said that the warriors had labored hard and deserved some time of merriment; he wished them to know that his heart was with them.

Jessie could not help feeling somewhat out of place without Thunder Horse there. His sister Sweet Willow was sitting with White Horse, while Lone Wing was with the children, enjoying his own day of freedom from his studies.

Jessie stood back and watched the camaraderie of these people. Some sang along with the solemn beating of drums. She had learned that these drums were made by stretching parchment made of deerskin over the ends of powder kegs. Each was beaten in a slow, steady cadence with a single stick.

The sound that came from these drums was portentous, whereas the lighter portable drums, made by putting parchment on hoops five or six inches deep, and fifteen inches in diameter, had a much more pleasant sound. They played along with flutes made of sumac, and rattles made of gourd shells into which had been put the round teeth of white bass.

Several dancers, both men and women, began to move around the central fire in time with the throbbing of the music.

Everywhere feathers fluttered in the air from elaborate dance costumes. Some of the men carried painted quivers on their backs, and held lances decorated with
strips of otter skin. There were also fans and banners waving in the air.

As the drums throbbed, the singers moved forward and backward, while the dancers circled, their shadows bobbing and skipping.

Then pretty little girls joined the dancers. They were dressed in soft deerskin dresses, moccasins, and leggings as white as snow.

Their long, black, shiny braids were tied with ornaments made from dyed porcupine quills strung on dyed deerskin strings. At the end of their hair strings were tassels of bright-colored feathers, which swayed as the girls danced in time with the music.

Soon many dancers and singers disbanded to complete the final preparations of the food. The children now occupied themselves with various games.

Although first the hunt, and now the partying, had gotten in the way of Lone Wing’s lessons, he had told Jessie that he had not forgotten the myth he was supposed to memorize. As he played games today, inside his head he was repeating the myth, so he would be ready to tell it, when Thunder Horse asked him.

Jessie sat down on a blanket just outside Thunder Horse’s tepee, still waiting for his arrival. Her curiosity about why he had left grew within her. Surely she would soon know why he was the only warrior, besides the sentries guarding the village, who was not there to join the fun.

Of course, she knew it must be something important that had taken him away, so she patiently waited as she tried hard not to feel so alone.

The only person who did not ignore her was Lone Wing, who frequently took time from his games to look over at her and smile.

After a while she realized that his occasional smiles were not only to make her feel less alone, but also to seek her approval of how he was doing in the games.

This meant a lot to Jessie. She was feeling a strong bond between herself and Lone Wing and she truly cared for the young man.

She watched the boys get ready to play what was called a mud and willow fight game. The moment it began, Jessie stiffened, for she saw that it could be a dangerous sport.

The boys had formed two lines facing each other. A lump of soft clay was stuck on the end of a springy willow wand and thrown at the boys on the other side. Simultaneously, those on that side threw apples from sticks as they shouted, “I, the brave, today do kill the only fierce enemy!”

Scarcely were those words uttered for the first time than Lone Wing let out a shriek of pain as one of the clumps of clay hit his head.

All activity stopped and everyone went quiet as Lone Wing crumpled to the ground. Blood was oozing from an open wound.

The boys hurriedly circled around Lone Wing, staring down at him. But one boy backed away from them after retrieving the lump of clay that he had thrown at Lone Wing.

Jessie saw him tear the lump of clay and remove a sharp rock from it. He quickly discarded the rock, then
nonchalantly dropped the lump back down to the ground and joined the boys again, a look of mischief in his coal-black eyes.

Jessie gasped. The boy had purposely wanted to hurt Lone Wing. She wondered why. Surely it was because Lone Wing was so special and was treated with respect by both children and adults.

Jealousy.

Yes, that was the answer. She wanted to go right away and scold the boy and make it known that he had purposely hurt the chief’s nephew.

But she didn’t. She knew that it was not her place to do such a thing.

So she did the next-best thing. She hurried to Lone Wing and knelt down beside him just as the shaman reached him with his bag of medicines.

Jessie reached for Lone Wing’s hand and held it as the shaman doctored the boy’s wound, but she could tell by Lone Wing’s expression that she shouldn’t be there. The way she was holding his hand was surely embarrassing him.

Understanding his look, Jessie slipped her hand from his and stood up. She backed away slowly.

Lone Wing didn’t want to look like a child when he was trying so hard to prove that he was a man. She hoped her gesture of caring hadn’t diminished in the eyes of those he so badly wanted to impress.

Fortunately, something else quickly drew everyone’s attention.

Jessie turned and gasped when she saw Thunder Horse walking into the village, bent over by his
burden—a large deer that he carried over his shoulders. His fringed buckskin shirt was sprinkled with blood and his eyes were filled with pride as the warriors began following him, shouting in unison,
“Woocoo-hoo!”
at the top of their lungs.

Jessie stood quietly by as the man she loved with all her heart stopped at his father’s tepee and threw the deer down at the entrance.

And then all went quiet as Thunder Horse turned to the people, his eyes brimming with emotion, and said, “My father has his own deer today!”

Thunderous applause filled the air, and tears came to Jessie’s eyes, for all understood his reason for bringing this deer: It would be the old chief’s last participation in the deer hunt.

Jessie stifled a sob behind her hand as Thunder Horse went inside his father’s lodge, stayed a moment, then came out again and gave instructions to two of his warriors, who nodded and took the deer away for preparation.

Thunder Horse went to Jessie. His hands were too bloody to touch her, but his eyes said it all . . . that he adored her.

“I will go and bathe in the river, then return to join the celebration,” he told her.

“What you just did was so beautiful,” she said, smiling into his eyes. “I hope to one day have a son who is as respectful to his father as you are to yours.”

“We will together teach
our
son the way it all should be done,” Thunder Horse said, emphasizing “our” to let her know that any son of hers would also be his,
whether or not that son might have been fathered by another man.

“Yes, our son,” she murmured, then watched him quickly strip to his breechclout, run to the river, and dive in.

He was soon back with her, dressed in clean clothes, ready to take part in the fun and merriment.

“Your father?” Jessie asked as she sat with Thunder Horse beside the large fire, where everyone was now sitting.

Some of the women were preparing to carry the food to the people in large platters. Jessie noticed one of the women stopping and looking heavenward, saying, “Great Mystery, do thou partake of this venison and still be gracious,” just as she tossed a piece of the choicest cooked game into the flames.

“My father is much weaker,” Thunder Horse said thickly.

“I’m sorry,” Jessie murmured.

She nodded and smiled a thank-you to two women who brought Jessie and Thunder Horse a platter of food.

“It is the natural way of things,” Thunder Horse said. “Life is given and life is taken away.”

Lone Wing came and plopped down on Thunder Horse’s left side. His eyes were bright. He started to say something, but Thunder Horse reached a hand to Lone Wing’s injury.

“And what caused this?” Thunder Horse asked, gazing into his nephew’s eyes. Lone Wing lowered his gaze in embarrassment. Thunder Horse placed a hand beneath the boy’s chin and lifted it.

“Were you injured during the games?” Thunder Horse asked.

Lone Wing nodded as his face flushed again in embarrassment. “I was careless,” he said softly.

“No, not tru—” Jessie began to say, for she had seen how it had happened. It was another young brave’s meanness that was to blame for the cut.

Please don’t
, Lone Wing’s eyes seemed to beg. Jessie stopped in mid sentence. She realized that she had a lot to learn about a young brave’s pride.

“But, Thunder Horse, I am ready to repeat the myth to you if you are ready to hear it,” Lone Wing said excitedly. He grinned. “And I have added some different twists and turns to it, as you suggested.”

Thunder Horse gave Jessie a curious gaze, for he had noticed the looks between her and Lone Wing. He would not delve further into what had happened, for he sensed that his nephew’s pride lay in the balance.

He looked quickly at Lone Wing. “I am ready to hear it,” Thunder Horse said, lowering his hand. “Tell it to me and Jessie.”

To Jessie’s surprise, Lone Wing repeated the tale word for word. And then she noticed a difference . . . he had added his own ending to the myth.

“You do yourself proud,” Thunder Horse said, patting Lone Wing’s bare shoulder. “You left nothing out, and the expression on your face added to the description of the tale.”

He smiled amusedly. “And the ending?” he said, nodding. “It was one even I could not have come up
with. It was good, nephew. It was more than that; it was excellent.”

“I am so proud,” Lone Wing said, beaming.

“As you should be,” Thunder Horse said, reaching over and giving the youth a hug.

“I am going to go and tell my friends that I did it,” Lone Wing said, leaping to his feet. He was soon encircled by all his friends except the one who had secretly attacked him.

The guilty boy eventually joined the others and forced a smile. He looked slowly over his shoulder at Jessie, and she realized that he knew she had seen what he had done today.

She gave him a knowing look, then turned away from him and smiled into Thunder Horse’s eyes.

“Lone Wing is such a special boy,” she said, then joined Thunder Horse in sampling the delicious food.