Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) (40 page)

"Surely a few strikes will not weaken a man who is claimed to be a
strong and brave warrior. Do the Red Shields not train to go without
food and water for many suns and moons to show their strength and
endurance?"

"That is true, Sroka, but we do not weaken foes before we fight
them. If an opponent is not at his best, how can such a victory be a
true one?"

"I will allow my people to have fun with you for two suns; then you
will be tended, fed, and watered to regain your strength to battle me
upon the rising of the third sun."

Wind Dancer realized his ploy to avoid anything that would drain
him of power which he needed for escape had failed. He heard Sroka
reveal his decision to his tribe, who cheered for him new coups and his
generosity. Sroka also ordered guards to be posted around the village
in the event the Red Shields attempted a rescue. Yet, Sroka added that
he was doubtful the Red Shields were so foolish, as they could not leave
their camp so vulnerable by sending enough warriors to challenge them.
Even if it cost him his life, Wind Dancer hoped his father prevented
such an action, as this band was strong and well armed and on the alert, and there was no way anyone could reach his position to free him
before both were slain by countless arrows.

As many men, women, and children closed in on him, Wind Dancer
braced himself for what was to come and to last for two-that number
again-days. He told himself if he could endure the formidable Sun
Dance Ritual, he could withstand anything. Yet, there was a good reason
for that sacred ceremony and its rigors when there were none for this
malicious occurrence. He lifted his gaze skyward and called the image
of Chumani to mind to distract him from his ordeal. He envisioned
them in their tepee, talking, laughing, and making love.

When they halted to camp at a side branch of Canpa Creek where
numerous wild-cherry trees grew amidst cottonwoods and willows and
other types, Chumani was besieged by mounting tension and dread.
They had traveled over rolling grassland and crossed many streams and
creeks which were mainly offshoots of the Sahiyela River. They had
entered an area of infrequent buttes, grassy hills, low knolls, and odd
formations. Yet, the landscape was mostly flat for great stretches. They
had seen many buffalo, deer, antelope, coyote, and other creatures. The
sky had remained a pale blue; the summer air, hot and dry; and the
Plains wind, constant and strong. They had not halted until daylight
was almost gone, and she knew there would be no moon showing again
tonight.

"We ride too slow, Zitkala," she fretted.

"We ride fast, Dewdrops," Zitkala gently corrected her. "It seems
slow, for you fear for your love's survival and are eager to reach him."

"The Crow ride faster and harder, for their hooves cut deeply into
the face of Mother Earth; they leave us behind more and more each
sun. If the moon's face was not hidden, we could ride longer and
overtake them."

"No, Dewdrops, for we and our horses need rest. We must not reach
our enemies too weary to fight and escape them. Do not fear, for our
shaman told us he will live to finish the visionquest. Do not forget
Wakantanka watches over and protects him and gave him a sacred task."

"Your words are wise and true, Zitkala, and I am shamed for having
such weakness and doubts. Even so, those feelings sneak into my body
and trouble my spirit. I will try harder to resist and destroy them."

At dawn, a bloodied and battered Wind Dancer was aroused from
a light doze by women who kicked or spat upon him as they walked
past his place of confinement to begin their morning tasks. He knew
those were only the first of countless strikes and insults he would receive
during this day and the ensuing one. He had tried for most of the night
to loosen his bonds, but they were too tight and secure to do so. He
was thirsty and hungry, and the hot sun would soon blaze down upon
him. Winged insects now feasted upon his numerous oozing wounds.
A few ants crawled over his feet and up his legs, biting him on occasion.

He looked upward and saw dark vultures circling overhead as if they
had caught the scent of impending death. It was a certainty the Crow
would not wrap his body in a buffalo hide, secure it with thongs, and
place it atop a burial scaffold; it would no doubt be discarded outside
the camp for scavenger birds such as these and creatures to feast upon
until only bones-or nothing-was left. That was not how he wanted
to leave the face of Mother Earth, and could not believe the Great Spirit
would allow such an evil to beset him.

He was convinced that even if he won his fight with Sroka, another
Crow warrior would take his place, and another and another until he
was exhausted and lost to one of them. He had to face the reality of
his fate: he could not escape, he could not be rescued, and death surely
loomed before him in one or more hand-to-hand battles.

Although he had been ensnared while performing his duty and a
generous deed for a helpless friend, he felt shamed by his capture; he
felt soiled by the touches of his enemies; he felt-though he struggled
to resist it-abandoned by the Great Spirit, and he prayed for that
wicked thought to leave his mind. He wanted to believe a wicohan
tanka, a miracle, would occur and release him, but perhaps it was the
season for his death. The sacred vision had revealed he was to ride
against their enemies-the Crow and the Whites-to plant the war lance between them to obtain a respite for hunting. He had done so,
and was perhaps not meant to complete the quest for a truce between
them. After the passings of two more moons, he would know the truth
and must accept it.

Late that afternoon, Chumani, Zitkala, Red Feather, War Eagle, and
Fire Walker lay on their stomachs atop a distant hill and amidst thick
grass. Cetan and their horses awaited them at its base, ready to be
mounted if a quick escape was necessary.

Chumani spied on the large village with the powerful fieldglass,
careful not to allow the sun to reflect upon its lens. She told the others
what she observed: the center of camp could not be seen due to the
off-set positions of the tepees in numerous circles, but the village was
ringed with armed lookouts who were spaced about five lodge lengths
apart. There were rolling hills and ravines closer to the village on
two opposing sides, but men occasionally rode to them to check for
encroachers. "There is no way beneath the sun's light for me to sneak
to their camp to enter it," she concluded aloud. "I would be sighted
long before I reached it. We must change our plan. I will leave now
and take cover there," she said, motioning to the chosen location. "I
will sneak into camp after dark, free Wind Dancer, and hide nearby
until you show yourselves at dawn and lure the enemy in your direction."

"They will be certain to look in all trees and ravines for you after
he is found missing. There is no moonlight to guide you there, my
sister. Even if you count the steps needed, you could walk into a guard
in the darkness or their dogs will bark warnings of your intrusion."

"That is a risk I must take, my brother. Once I reach the camp, their
fires will show me the way to my husband. If he is being guarded, I
will sneak up on that Crow and slay him. The scents of ashes and smoke
upon my garments and flesh will take away my unfamiliar smell that
their dogs and horses might perceive. I will cut and cover us with grass
until it is safe to retreat. Cetan will go with me and he will take flight
to signal you to begin your task to draw them away from our position."

"How will we know where you hide, Dewdrops, to lure them away
from you?" War Eagle asked.

"Watch for Cetan, for he will fly from it. But if he comes to Zitkala
with a feather tied to his leg before that time, do not carry out your
part of the plan; it will mean you must ride for our camp fast."

"What of you, my sister?" Fire Walker asked in dread.

"The feather signal will mean you must not endanger yourselves as
my beloved lives no more and I am safe and away, or he cannot be
reached to free him, or I have been captured and cannot be rescued."

"We cannot leave you as their captive!" Fire Walker argued.

"If I am taken, my brother, you must not risk your life to come for
me. It is foolish to give more lives to our enemies. You must survive
to lead our people, to see the face of your unborn child, to help these
companions carry out the rest of the sacred task. If Waci Tate and
Chumani die in this place and on this moon, it is the will of Wakantanka
and must be accepted."

"Dewdrops speaks wisely, Fire Walker, and we must follow her
words," Red Feather told her worried brother.

War Eagle and Zitkala nodded agreement, their expressions saddened
by unbidden thoughts of perhaps losing two good friends tonight.

"It must be this way, my brother; do not resist the truth."

Fire Walker nodded resignation. He embraced his sister, perhaps for
the last time, his gaze misty with love.

The four watched her ride away to skirt the distant hills, take cover
where she had indicated, and prepare herself with the cunning disguise.
They saw Wind Dancer's horse trailing behind her, Cetan perched on
her shoulder, and all prayed for her safety and success.

Wind Dancer felt weak and dizzy, more from a lack of water after
sweating so heavily beneath the fiery sun, than from a lack of food or
the many blows he had endured during the day. He was relieved night
had come with a cooling breeze and his tormentors had taken to their
lodges until morning. Secured in a standing position and his bonds
tight, his body ached and felt numb in some places from restricted blood flow. He leaned his head against the large post and closed his
eyes, causing his head to feel as if it were spinning in a whirlwind. His
mouth and throat were dry. He knew his body was sagging, but did
not have the strength to straighten himself; and the way in which his
legs were bound refused to allow him to sit or even squat.

Something caused him to open his eyes and he saw the nearest fire
had gone out and the guard beside it was asleep, two lapses which would
earn him great punishment if discovered. With night upon the land
and no moon to brighten it, he could barely see beyond the tepeeencircled center where other small fires burned. It seemed unusually
quiet; no sounds of crickets, frogs, or nocturnal birds reached his ears,
and all enemy horses were silent. Was he the one who was asleep and
dreaming? he wondered.

He strained to see an old woman who now stood before him, as he
had not heard her approach. A blanket was tossed over her head, shielding
her face from his view. Her scent was unfamiliar, but since the camp
dogs were quiet, it must be known to them. He was astonished when
she held a buffalo horn cup to his lips and gave him water that tasted
strange; then she used a buffalo bladder bag to pour water over his
flesh. Oddly, his injuries seemed to gain comfort and his body to gain
strength from it. He wondered why an elderly Crow female would help
him and why she did not speak to him. Perhaps he was truly dreaming.
Yet, it did not seem as if he were asleep. He felt as if he were growing
stronger and he wondered what had been in the water he had drunk
and which flowed over him. His hands and legs were freed then, and
he was surprised his knees did not buckle on him. She grasped his hand
and pulled on him to follow her, which he did without asking questions.

She guided him past numerous tepees, some with fires nearby. He
was amazed that no horse or dog exposed their presence. She led him
into the darkness beyond the last circle of lodges and into the stream
nearby. They walked for a while, then he felt the bank nudge his ankle.
He stepped from the stream and felt his renewed strength vanish, forcing
him to sit down. He extended his arms but could not locate the woman.
Or perhaps it was a Bate, a feminine Crow male who dressed and lived as a woman, a rank which was accepted and even revered by the
Apsaalooke.

"Where are you? Who are you? Why did you help me?" he asked in
Crow, then in Dakota, and received no response. A strange weariness
crept over him and his body sank to the grass. His eyes closed and
reality vanished into a beautiful and peaceful dream about his wife.

Chumani kept pressing onward toward the dim fires in the Crow
camp, taking careful steps to avoid obstacles and counting them so she
would know how many to take when retracing her path to their horses.
She prayed her disguise would trick anyone she encountered and her
masked scent would fool the camp animals into allowing her to pass
unchallenged. Cetan had been left with the horses, the signal feather
secured to one leg in the event she did not return before dawn, as he
would instinctively take flight then. Even if the hawk did not go to
Zitkala without being ordered to do so, the feather on his leg could be
sighted through the magic eye-glass she had left with them.

As she moved along, Chumani told herself this situation had been
the cause of her recent strange feelings, those chilling sensations. Just
as she neared the fringe of the camp, a large dog blocked her path
seeming to come from the night air itself. She lowered her head and
gazed in haste to show she was not a threat, a sign of submission to
animals, and tried to go around him. Yet, every time she sidestepped,
so did he, as if he refused to allow her to enter the perilous area. She
looked up and her gaze widened in astonishment: it was the same
creature she had seen in the forest and who had helped them defeat
Chaheechopes and his band!

Her mind filled with questions. How and why had he traveled so
far from those two sightings? How could she see him when there was
no moon and the nearest fire was a good distance away? Surely his
glowing eyes and shiny fur did not give off enough light to reveal his
presence to her, but she could not deny reality. He moved toward her,
and she retreated a few steps. He halted, nodded his massive head, and
wagged his tail.