Wild Ecstasy (5 page)

Such talk of wives and children catapulted Echohawk's thoughts back to the time when he was so proud to boast of his wife being with child. It tore at his heart, this absence of a wife—and of a child that would never be.

“That is good,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “And may the Great Spirit bless you more than once with children.” He recalled Nee-kah in his mind's eye, and her innocent loveliness, and smiled as he felt her presence at his side as she stepped up next to him. “And your beautiful wife will bear you beautiful children.”

Nee-kah cast her eyes downward, her face burning with a blush.

And then she took Echohawk's hand. “
Mah-bee-szhon
, come. I will now take you to your dwelling,” she said, her voice lilting. “You must mend quickly, for your people need you. I will help in that mending.”

Wise Owl stepped aside as Nee-kah led Echohawk outside and slowly to his assigned wigwam.

Once inside, she helped him down onto a sleeping platform and covered him with a bear pelt and blankets, and soon had a roaring fire blazing in the firepit in the center of the dwelling.

“I must leave now to go and get supplies for your stay here,” Nee-kah said, looking tenderly down at Echohawk. “I shall return soon.”

Echohawk nodded, then closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

He opened his eyes again in a flash as he felt another presence in the room. He bolted to a sitting position, trying to see who was there. He damned the white man who had taken his sight from him when he could not make out anything but the shadow of a man kneeling beside him.

“It is I,” Silver Wing said, kneeling down close to Echohawk's sleeping platform. “I have brought you many things.” He placed a rifle in Echohawk's hand. “This is for you. Keep it with you at all times. If white men destroyed your village, ours might be next.”

“
Mee-gway-chee-wahn-dum
, thank you,” Echohawk said, lifting the rifle, liking the feel of it in his hands.

“Also I have brought you a bow and arrows, should you prefer that weapon over the firearm,” Silver Wing said, placing the bow and arrows at Echohawk's side on the sleeping platform.

“You are more than kind,” Echohawk said, laying the rifle aside. He reached out for Silver Wing, searching, then clasping his hand on his shoulder. “My father was right to want to rekindle your friendship and live close to you. You are a special man, a man of heart.”

“You would be as generous had it been I who came to you sightless and fatherless,” Chief Silver Wing said solemnly. He paused, then added, “I also offer you land for burial of your people's loved ones.”

Echohawk almost choked on a sob, so moved was he by Chief Silver Wing's continuing generosities. “My people,” he said. “Those who have survived. Are they all being seen to? I do not want to be favored over them. I am now their chief. My oath as chief binds my life first to the lives of my people.”

“Each has been taken in by a separate family,” Chief Silver Wing assured. “None will want for anything. And this will be so until you choose to leave our village.”

Echohawk reached out and hugged Chief Silver Wing tightly, for a moment feeling as though he was in his father's presence.

Then, embarrassed, he drew away.

A kind, firm hand on his shoulder made Echohawk warm clear through. “My heart is grateful,” he said. Then he scowled as he once again remembered the massacre. “I will avenge my people. I will begin hard practicing with weapons soon, to perfect what sight that I have left. They who are responsible for my people's misfortunes will die!”

Chief Silver Wing gazed down at Echohawk, saddened by and wary of the bitterness in his voice and heart. He knew that no good could come from it. The white people had become the law in these parts. If Echohawk killed for revenge, then so would more Chippewa be slain because of it.

It was Silver Wing's sincere desire to help curb Echohawk's anger and to find a more peaceful solution to what had happened again to the red men of the forest. For their survival, that was the only way. Too quickly the white people were outnumbering the red man in the Minnesota wilderness.

“I have brought you something else,” Silver Wing said, placing a pipe and otter-skin tobacco pouch on Echohawk's lap. “When you smoke from this pipe, think peaceful thoughts.”

Echohawk's mind was no longer on what Silver Wing was saying or was offering. He was feeling hot, and then cold. Yet he did not complain out loud, although he knew that he was being weakened even more now by a fever.

“I shall return later to see how you are faring,” Silver Wing said, rising. “Nee-kah will be here shortly. She will bathe your wound. She will feed you broth. Tomorrow will be a brighter day for you, Echohawk. You will see that I am right.”

After Chief Silver Wing left the wigwam, Echohawk laid the pipe and tobacco pouch aside and eased back down onto the thick layer of pelts. His thoughts were becoming fuzzy. His scalp seemed on fire.

“
Gee-bah-bah
, Father,” he whispered, reaching a hand out toward the fire, thinking that he saw his father's image in the dancing flames. “Father, do you hear me? Do you see me? Your
nin-gwis
, son, oh, how he misses you!”

He moved to his side and closed his eyes, his body racked with hard chills as his temperature began to rise.

He found himself drifting somewhere between midnight thoughts and the flaming glory of a Chippewa sunrise....

* * *

Fully clothed, reeking of dried perspiration and alcohol, Victor Temple tossed fitfully in his bed, his drunken slumber broken by dreams of horror. In the nightmare, he and Mariah were nude and chained together, forced to stand upon a scaffold, while Indians looked at them with hate in their eyes, ready to shoot arrows into their flesh.

Victor awakened with a start, a cold, clammy sweat on his brow, his hands drenched with perspiration, and his eyes fixed.

Shaking himself out of the dream, he jumped from the bed and poured himself a glass of whiskey, drinking it in fast gulps.

Then, recalling Mariah's part in the dream and in the Indian massacre that he had commanded, he rushed to her room to see if she was all right. When he discovered that she was not there, alarm filled him.

“She's been abducted!” he cried aloud. “While I slept, my daughter was abducted!”

His thoughts became scrambled as he wondered who could have done it. “Tanner?” he whispered, then shook his head, thinking that Tanner wouldn't be that foolish.

“Injuns?” he said, panic rising inside him.

He ran down the steps to the lower floor, then from the house, frantically waving his hands. “My daughter's gone!” he shouted, drawing men from their bunks. “Saddle up! We've got to find her!”

Chapter 5

—Thomson

 

 

 

Autumn's warming rays filtering down through the stands of hemlock and spruce were welcome as Mariah awakened from a night of bone-chilling temperatures. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she slowly rose to a sitting position beside the creek, trying to organize, think logically, slowly recalling what had happened. She had braved the raging waters of the swollen creek, but had lost the battle, it seemed. She had been thrown from her horse, her beloved mustang having then been carried away in the current. She had been momentarily stunned, and then had discovered that she had been too tired to travel onward by foot. She had not meant to, but she had slept all night!

Her parched lips drew her eyes to the creek, its waters having receded. Crawling to the embankment, she cupped her hands and lowered them into the water for a drink, then winced when she caught her reflection in the shine of the water. She hardly recognized herself! Her face was covered with mud, also her hair was tangled with its muck and mire.

She glanced down at her clothes, seeing that they were no better off. They were stiff with dried mud.

The crunching of leaves behind Mariah made her turn her head in a jerk to see what had made the sound, again feeling her helplessness since she had no rifle for protection.

But she was soon relieved and rose slowly to her feet when she found only an Indian maiden standing there gazing down at her, instead of a fierce brave. And wasn't the Indian maiden lovely with her eyes of a deep, deep brown, her braided waist-length hair even darker than her eyes?

Mariah's gaze traveled over the maiden, seeing that she was attired in a long-sleeved buckskin dress, tightly drawn over her stomach, revealing that she might be with child. She also wore a lovely blue tunic beaded in a leaf-and-flower design, and knee-high moccasins.

Mariah did not even feel threatened when she realized that the maiden's one hand was on a sheathed knife at her waist, her other hand clutching a basket filled with what appeared to be an assortment of wild herbs, apparently picked from the forest bed. There was too much kindness in the gentle features of the maiden's face for her to use the knife against Mariah—a person quite visibly without weapons.

“I am
nee-gee
, a friend,” Mariah said softly, so glad that her father had taught her enough of the Chippewa language to get by.

She then tried to reach the beautiful maiden in her own tongue, knowing that most Indians in this region knew the English language well enough, since they traded with the white people at Fort Snelling. “I am a friend in need of help. Can you offer me assistance? I no longer have a way to travel to Fort Snelling, my destination. My horse lost its footing and threw me, then was swept away in the swift current.”

Still the maiden did not speak, seeming to be taking her time to come to a decision about Mariah, about whether she spoke the truth or lied.

Then Mariah became wary herself. “Are you Chippewa or Sioux?” she asked, her voice revealing her wariness. She feared the Sioux. They had not made peace with the white people as readily as had the Chippewa.

To Mariah's relief, the maiden finally spoke.

“Nee-kah is Chippewa.” Her eyes roved over Mariah, then locked eyes with her. “Your name?”

Mariah stiffened, afraid to reveal her name to Nee-kah, unsure of whether or not the news had spread of her father's attack on Echohawk's village, and her part in it.

Nee-kah's eyebrows lifted, finding it strange that this white lad who had been so talkative before now chose to be quiet.

But she could not delay returning to her village any longer by playing word games with the lad. She had left only long enough to find the herbs necessary for Echohawk's healing. He had become fevered and now awaited her return.

Through the night she had become concerned about this temperature that had risen so quickly, seeming to rob him of his senses. She was frightened over this, for the white man's attack had not only taken away most of his eyesight but also could perhaps eventually cost him his life.

“
Mah-bee-szhon
, come,” Nee-kah said. “White boy, you will go with me to my village. Chief Silver Wing will decide what then will become of you.”

Mariah fell into step beside Nee-kah, through woods mixed with meadow, the pine forest crowding up to the shore of the land. She was relieved that the maiden had not demanded a name, yet feared being taken to a powerful Chippewa chief, especially since she had been part of a Chippewa massacre only yesterday.

And she did not know if she should correct Nee-kah's mistaking her for a boy and tell her that she was a young woman, like herself.

She quickly decided that revealing too many truths at this time could be dangerous.

Especially claiming the name “Temple” in these parts now could possibly be her death decree.

She set her jaw angrily when she thought of her father. He had not taken into consideration the outcome of his decision to slay many Chippewa yesterday, when there were other villages of Chippewa in the area who could avenge their fallen comrades!

Her father had not considered the danger in which he had placed his daughter, which proved to her that his caring for her came second to his lusty need of vengeance against a Chippewa that had rendered him a half-cripple all of those years ago.

Dizzy from hunger and the trauma of the fall, and fearing the outcome of her appearance in the Chippewa village, Mariah stumbled and fell.

Nee-kah stopped quickly and set her basket on the ground. She knelt down beside Mariah. “
Ah-neen-ay-szhee-way-bee-zee-en
?” she said, gently touching Mariah's arm.

Then, assuming that the white person who looked at her with a keen puzzlement in her eyes surely did not understand her Chippewa language all that well, she decided to speak in the English tongue that she had learned quickly enough from her chieftain husband.

“What is wrong with you?” Nee-kah asked. “Are you ill?”

Mariah blinked nervously at Nee-kah and smiled weakly. “I'm fine,” she murmured. “Or I will be, once I get some food in me.”

“You will be given food after you have council with my husband,” Nee-kah said, placing a hand to Mariah's elbow, helping her up from the ground. She smiled at Mariah. “And do not despair. My husband, Chief Silver Wing, is a fair, kind man. He will not treat you harshly. You are but a mere lad. And you carry no weapon with which to harm my people.
Ay-uh
, yes, you will be treated kindly by my chieftain husband.”

“You are Chief Silver Wing's wife?” Mariah said, her eyes widening in surprise. “I know of him. He is much . . .”

“Much older?” Nee-kah said, laughing softly as she gave Mariah another sweet smile. “
Ay-uh
, yes, my husband is older. I was chosen because of my youth to be his wife so that I might bear him a child.” She placed her hand on her abdomen. “This I do for him gladly. I have not had a blood course for four moons! I am with child.”

Mariah was stunned, even embarrassed by Nee-kah's innocent openness. She had always imagined the Indian women to be bashful and quiet, living only in the shadow of, and for, their husbands.

But Nee-kah seemed filled with a love of life led by a free spirit. Mariah liked her instantly.

“How nice,” Mariah finally said, yet offered no further conversation. Her attention was drawn to the village that was now within sight through a break in the trees a short distance away. The birchbark wigwams were ranged in a great horseshoe shape in a wide bend of a tree-fringed creek, the dwellings all facing the east, offering the traditional welcome to the spirit of the rising sun. The first thin smoke of the morning cook fires rose in the cool air, drifting to the southeast.

Mariah was now aware that all along, while asleep on the ground beside the creek, she had not been very far from the Indian village. From the very beginning she had taken wrong paths on her journey to Fort Snelling!

But of course she should have expected no more from herself. Always before when she had traveled to Fort Snelling, she had been with her father, and not especially attentive to which particular paths he was taking to get there.

“We are there,” Nee-kah said, her chin held high as she led Mariah into the village. She smiled at the women who were moving to and fro, some carrying firewood, others water. And she understood why they stared questioningly at the stranger at her side. The young lad was in desperate need of a bath. Though he was covered with mud, it was quite clear that the lad with her was white, and at this moment in time any white people were cause for alarm in their village.

Yet surely they saw this young lad as she did—harmless, and as someone who would perhaps be frightened of
them
.

The smoke from the fires outside the wigwams and the food cooking over them gave a pleasant scent to the morning air, making Mariah's stomach growl unmercifully from hunger. She gaped openly at the great sheets of buffalo backs roasting over the fires, dripping their fat into the blaze, the dripping, burning grease sputtering.

It had been too long between meals. At the time of her escape from her father, food had been the last thing on her mind. Though a part of survival, food had taken second place to getting away from the evil clutches of her father and seeking help at Fort Snelling.

Mariah walked as close to Nee-kah as possible, aware of the many eyes on her as she was taken through the village of wigwams. She tried not to look at the Chippewa women and children soon clustering around her. She kept her focus straight ahead, on a wigwam that was larger than the others, most surely Chief Silver Wing's. While shopping at Fort Snelling, she had heard much talk about Chief Silver Wing, and most prominent of this gossip was that he was a kind Chippewa leader. She had even gotten glimpses of him at times throughout the years. He had been a muscled, tall, and noble-visaged man with kind eyes.

But if he was aware of the attack on his Chippewa neighbor, she wondered warily to herself, what then of his kindness toward people with white skin now, no matter that she was only one person, taken as a defenseless lad, at that?

A scowling brave stepped suddenly in Mariah and Nee-kah's path, his eyes two points of fire, his arms folded tightly across his bare copper chest.

Fear grabbed Mariah at the pit of her stomach when the brave glared down at her, his jaw tight.

Then she sighed with relief when he gave Nee-kah the same sour look, making Mariah realize that not all of his anger was directed at herself—but instead, obviously, at Nee-kah.

“And so you succeeded at eluding me again, did you, Nee-kah?” Wise Owl said, his voice a low grumble.

“Nee-kah is not a frail thing who cannot fend for herself,” Nee-kah said stubbornly.

“You again defy your husband, your chief, by going into the forest without me, your appointed guard?” Wise Owl said, his eyes shifting to Mariah. “And should this white lad have been an adult, with adult weapons. What then, Nee-kah?”

“Nee-kah knows not to approach large white men who sport weapons,” she snapped. “This boy? I saw that he was no threat. I offered him assistance.” She firmed her chin and looked defiantly up at Wise Owl. “Perhaps I should have killed him, Wise Owl, with my knife? And left him as food for bears?”

“You may wish you had,” Wise Owl said, his eyes roving over Mariah. “This lad has family. His father could be near with firearms. Perhaps you have opened ways for an attack on our people.” He grabbed Mariah by a wrist. “Come. You will tell my chief why you are close to our village.”

Mariah paled as Nee-kah grabbed her wrist away from Wise Owl.

“He is mine,” Nee-kah hissed. “I will take him to my husband. Not you!”

“One day you will trust white people too much,” Wise Owl said, then turned and strode away.

“Come with me,” Nee-kah said, leading Mariah on to the larger wigwam. “And do not let Wise Owl's harsh words frighten you. His heart is in the right place. He is one of my husband's most devoted braves.”

Stepping up to the larger wigwam, Mariah glanced over at Nee-kah, trying to get reassurances again from her that she would be treated fairly, but Nee-kah was no longer paying heed to her fears. She was raising the moose-skin entrance flap, and soon stepped aside for Mariah to enter.

Swallowing back her fear, Mariah went inside the conical dwelling, immediately seeing Chief Silver Wing. He was sitting beside the firepit, attaching colorful feathers on the bowl of his pipe. She was quickly in awe of this man, as she had been before. He wore only a breechclout, revealing to her a man of over six feet, surely packing two hundred pounds of brawn on his massive frame. The only things about him that came close to revealing his age were the wrinkles grooved into his wise face and some threads of gray woven through his shoulder-length raven-black hair. A bear-claw armlet on his right arm proved him to be a man of distinction.

“My husband?” Nee-kah said, setting her basket of herbs aside. She went and sank onto her knees beside Chief Silver Wing. “I have brought you a young lad whose horse threw him and left him stranded not far from our village. I have offered him assistance. Was I wrong to?”

Chief Silver Wing gazed up at Mariah, his keen and piercing eyes roving slowly over her. “And why were you so close to my village?” he finally asked, his kind face solemn.

“I was on my way to Fort Snelling,” Mariah said, fearing having to tell him more than she wanted to.

“You, alone, were going to Fort Snelling?” Chief Silver Wing asked, his jaw tightening. “It is not a normal thing for a boy your age to be riding alone.” He set his pipe aside and folded his arms across his chest. “Where are those who were riding with you? Are they also near my village? Do they come to do us harm?”