Joe worried what he would do if what he’d been told wasn’t true or accurate and if the Oglala were at fault or partially guilty. What if they didn’t want peace anymore or desire a new treaty? What if they murdered and scalped him the minute he entered their camp?
Joe had watched southern belles work their wiles on men. He knew how cunning and daring some could be, all the while looking and sounding as pure as angels. Could Morning Star have him duped by her many charms? Could she knowingly be leading him into a lethal trap? Was she fetching the white-hating warriors she had told him were gone? Was it logical for an Indian maiden to trust and help a paleface?
Chapter Three
Morning Star chased the careless rabbit into an area enclosed on three sides by fallen rocks that were jammed close and tight and offered no hiding place or route to freedom. She dragged broken tree limbs into the opening to entangle her catch and prevent its escape. She eased toward the captive who was huddled in a snug ball against the rocks. She grabbed his ears, then struggled to get him under swift control as his squeals could summon a predator. She trapped the creature between her knees and cut its throat with speed, mercy, and skill. Slaying the rabbit did not evoke guilt because it was food provided by the Great Spirit, and hunting was their way of life.
Morning Star removed the head and skinned away the furry hide. She gutted it and left the entrails to feed another of the Great Spirit’s creations. She took apart the barrier and went to a nearby stream to wash the meat and her hands before heading for the cave. She halted long enough to cut a sturdy limb for a skewer and two strong ones for pronged holders.
During her walk back, Morning Star thought about the white man awaiting her. Her father, uncle, grandfather, and tribe had made friends with a few whites in the past. Joseph Lawrence seemed to be the kind of man they would like and trust, as she did. His plan for peace was daring and clever. She prayed it would succeed. She knew many in her camp would speak against it and him, but hopefully the vote would go in his favor. As her rescuer, he should be safe. But his kindness would not earn him their help. If the council refused his request and he was sent away, she might never see him again. That thought displeased her.
It was strange how she wanted to watch him, to learn from him, to share more exciting and dangerous adventures with him, and to become closer. She liked the way the sun played in his golden hair and reflected its radiant glory. She lost herself in his eyes that mirrored the blue heaven and in his voice that flowed as warm honey over her. He was a good man. If she could become his guide and translator, she could help her people survive. But would Joe allow a woman to join him? If so, would her council agree? Her father?
Morning Star entered the cave as darkness settled as a cozy blanket over a chilled land. She went to the fire and sat down. “Mastincala to cook and eat.” Her skilled hands positioned the two holders with forked ends into the ground. She skewered the rabbit with the last one and suspended it over the fire, resting the limb on the two Y-shaped ends.
“How did you get him without a trap or a bow or gun?” Joe asked.
“Buckskin Girl teach how. She,” Morning Star revealed as she gestured thirty-six with her fingers, “Winters. Morning Star,” she said and motioned eighteen. “We… best friends. How many win— years is Joe?”
“Twenty-eight,” he answered, signing the number of his age as she had.
“Tell more. Where you from? When come here?”
“I’m from a place called Virginia, far away. I traveled to Fort Laramie last fall with Tanner and his father. That’s the season between summer and winter. We wintered there, as your people do in these hills. When spring came, Tanner and I started riding from post to post scouting for his father.” Joe didn’t want to think about Tanner’s death again today, so he chatted lightly. “I have one sister, Sarah Beth; she’s older than I am. She’s married to Andrew Reardon, who works with my father in the shipping business. They have one son, Lucas, four years old. I miss my family, especially my mother. Her name is Annabelle; you’d like her— she’s a fine lady, the best.”
Morning Star watched the array of expressions that came and went on Joe’s face. She was glad he felt this way about his people. Families, friends, and ancestors should be important to one.
Looking at Morning Star, Joe suddenly realized that his brief doubt of her had come as a defense against his potent attraction to her and a fear that he could not resist her. Somehow he knew she could be trusted. “When we talked before, I didn’t mean to sound as if my father and I aren’t good friends; we are. We love each other. I guess I’m as much like him as any son could be. I just had this hunger inside that I had to feed before I settled down. I wouldn’t want you to think those words I told Zeke and his men were true.”
“What people see outside not always how we are inside,” Morning Star commented. “Many think Morning Star too bold and act before thinking. Morning Star not try to be a warrior, but women must know skills to hunt and to defend camp when men gone. If not learn how to strike target with arrow and lance, not be able to protect and feed loved ones. A man enemy most times stronger than woman’s claws and teeth. Must learn tricks to use when power is smaller than foe’s. How can others say such things wrong for woman?”
“It isn’t bad or wrong, Morning Star,” Joe assured her. “And it doesn’t make you less of a woman or a lady.”
“What is lady? You say mother is lady.”
Joe mused for a minute, then said, “A special woman from a good family and high birth rank, one who knows how to do the right things at the right time and place. You’re from a line of great chiefs, so you have a high birth rank and a good family. You’re a very special woman, so you’re a lady.”
The Indian maiden beamed with pleasure, and the fascinated male returned her smile. Neither realized the strength of the bond and mutual attraction between them, nor how rapidly they both were increasing. Many things had inspired their easy rapport and trust. They were sharing a heady adventure. They had depended upon and helped each other. They possessed similar dreams and goals. They were in a secluded and intimate setting where it seemed for now that only they existed.
The fire crackled and danced flames as wispy smoke rose, then vanished into the blackness. They sat on the cool earth with the fire separating them and highlighting their features. They had touched when she had tended his wound and when she had led him into the dark cave. He had shown his trust in her when he had followed her lead on the trail and into the hideout and when she had left to hunt. She had shown her trust by remaining with him. Instinct told Morning Star that Joe would not harm her, and it told Joe that she knew she was safe with him. They felt at ease, as if they had known each other for a long time.
“Are you married?” he asked.
She understood the word and replied, “No. And you? Do you have a mate?”
“No. What about a sweetheart, a special man?” he clarified.
“No. Is same for you?” she asked, and prayed it was.
“I have no special woman at home, but I’m surprised you’re still free.”
“I not shared a blanket with any brave or warrior.” Morning Star explained the custom of romance. Privacy for courting was often hard to find. When a brave came to woo his choice of a mate, they would stand before her family’s tepee and she would cover their head and shoulders with a blanket. This allowed for closeness, stolen kisses, whispers, and plans. It was the custom that everyone pretended not to notice the half-hidden couple. If a female was in great demand, she could share a blanket with many braves until she decided which one she wanted to join, marry.
“That sounds most enjoyable. I bet a brave gets jealous and scared when his choice shares a blanket with others. I would.”
They laughed, then gazed at each other until Joe felt warm and tingly. “Smells good,” he said, nodding at the rabbit.
Morning Star understood why he was changing the subject. Their talk had been personal. She had listened to his words carefully, an
d she tried to speak correctly as she said, “It is cooked. Do you have… dishes?”
“We’ll have to share,” he said, fetching a tin plate and handing it to her. He went to the pool and filled his cup, then sat beside her to feast off the shared plate and to drink from the same cup.
The rabbit was crisp, moist, and delicious. They licked their fingers after finishing each piece she carved before fetching another. The meat was nourishing and satisfying. When it was consumed, Morning Star washed the dishes and set them aside to dry. The fire had burned low. She added more wood to chase away the blend of night and cave chills.
“We must sleep. We ride when Wi awakens.”
“We scout tomorrow,” Joe reminded. “Nothing more.”
“Morning Star obey. We must live to find peace for my people.”
“There’s something else you must understand and accept: my tasks are important. I’ll do and say anything necessary to carry them out. I’m a stranger here, so I need help from your father and people. I don’t want to lie to them or trick them even a little. But if I must, I will. If I don’t make truce and find victory, your people and lands can be destroyed. If they’re guilty of the charges against them,” he added, “I’ll have to report that to Fitzpatrick. No matter who’s to blame, the main thing is to prevent a bloody war out here. I owe that to Tanner, and I promised his father.”
She observed his expression for a moment as she mused on his words. “Morning Star understand.” She claimed the same location she had used last night. She had refused Joe’s polite offer of his sleeping roll, that even he had forgotten about last night. She rested her head on her parfleche and snuggled into Joe’s warm jacket that held his masculine scent.
Joe felt guilty using the bedroll even though Morning Star had pointed out accurately that he was more accustomed to sleeping on one than she was. He wished she were lying beside him and curled in his arms. He scolded himself for such carnal desires about the “lady” nearby.
Joe was glad she had accepted his last words without anger or resistance; it told him that peace and survival for her people was her goal. He was cognizant of the many differences between himself and the lovely Indian maiden. Nothing serious was possible between them, yet his body ached for hers and his very soul seemed to reach out to her. He warned himself to stop thinking of her and craving her, but his heart and body refused to obey his mind’s urgings.
Morning Star experienced the same longings and hesitations. She asked herself why no Oglala or ally had touched her as this sunny-haired, sky-eyed white man did. If so, she would be joined by now! She told herself she must not be drawn to him, as nothing could come of such feelings. She told herself it was wrong to want to be near him, to want to… She changed her position and ordered such wicked thoughts to leave her in peace. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Great Spirit— Wankantanka— had guided him to her on the past moon and was using him to save her people. Wakantanka often worked in mysterious ways.
Joseph Lawrence could be one of those ways. Just as many warriors were talking of war with the encroaching whites, a special white man arrived to try to prevent new conflicts and bloodshed. Despite his skin color, she trusted Joe with all except her heart. That she must never yield to a man her people viewed as one of the enemy.
Each heard the other’s restless movements. Both hoped theirs were not as noticeable. Both knew the suffering and shame any weakness would bring to themselves and their families. To allow their bond to tighten and strengthen would be like willingly leaping into a roaring fire. To even think of each other as only a man and a woman would be perilous, shameful, and destructive. Each prayed such forbidden emotions would vanish. Each knew they would not. They closed their eyes and begged for sleep to imprison them, free them. They didn’t know who or what awaited them tomorrow…
Joseph Lawrence and Morning Star left the cozy cave and sneaked to Zeke’s campsite. They found it was deserted. The age of the coals, wagon ruts, and horse droppings revealed that the three white men had left early the previous morning. Two whiskey bottles, a coffee tin, broken knife, a flattened metal cup, and an old St. Louis newspaper had been left behind.
The Indian maiden looked at the mess. “They make face of Mother Earth ugly with their leavings. Fire die after they ride away. It dangerous not to kill with water. Plenty nearby. If fire jump rocks, it run far; bad.”
Joe understood her dismay. It was the same along the trails that the wagon trains took through Indian territory: various items— wagon wheels and parts, pianos, heavy furniture, broken bottles, fancy clothing, trunks— and garbage from spent supplies were strewn about from beginning to end. Skeletons of mules and horses overburdened by overloaded wagons could be seen, as well as farm animals that had died along the way. Graves and crosses caught the eye at places where fatal illness or accident had occurred. Sometimes such eyesores couldn’t be helped, but used tins and such should be buried, not cast out to steal the land’s beauty, Joe and Morning Star concurred.
“Let’s track the wagons,” Joe said. “But we have to be careful. They’re probably watching for us to follow,” he reminded her. As they studied the ground, Joe remarked, “Looks as if they all left together. I’m surprised they didn’t come looking for us. Let’s ride, but keep your eyes and ears alert. If trouble strikes, you ride for home.”
“If trouble come, Joe follow Morning Star fast.”
He shook his head. “No,” he told her. “I’ll lead them in the other direction. I want you to get away safely. Don’t worry about me.”
She looked into his adamant gaze. “No good to be apart. Joe must follow men. Morning Star. Safe with Joe, not safe alone.”
He thought over her argument and nodded. “You’re right. You’re more valuable to them than I am. If we’re ambushed, we make a run for it.”
They followed the deep ruts and numerous hoofprints northwestward. After a few miles, they saw buzzards circling beyond them.
The hairs on Joe’s body seemed to bristle in warning. “Maybe they shot an animal or one of their horses died,” he remarked. “Let’s move slow and easy. I’ll keep a lookout for an ambush, and you keep us on their tracks.”
Morning Star shared his feeling that something was wrong ahead. She watched the trail, while Joe kept his concentration on their surroundings. She didn’t want either of them trapped by their enemies and tensed with apprehension and alert, summoning forth all of her skills and instincts to aid them.
When they neared the place the vultures had found their next meal, they noticed a man’s body with arrows protruding from it.
Morning Star recognized the garments. “It man called Clem,” she said.
Joe’s gaze scanned each direction, but he didn’t see or sense anyone’s presence. “Stay back. He may be alive. It could be a trap.”
“Death birds no come unless smell death.”
“Wonder who attacked them,” Joe murmured as they approached the grim site. He warned himself to stay on guard for trickery.
Anger filled Morning Star as she eyed the arrows, as each tribe had their own colors and markings. Clem was lying as if he’d been shot and had fallen from a horse, then left behind while others fled for survival. “It trick. My band gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those Red Heart arrows. White men steal and use to make others think we attack and kill. It not true.”
“You sure your band left this area? What if they did attack?”
She shook her head. “They no do. See, no pony tracks. He die or big man kill. Leave here so others blame Red Hearts.”
Joe dismounted and examined the ground and Clem’s body. Perhaps Clem had died from a blow to the head during the battle for their escape, Joe thought. He had taken a hard fall after Morning Star’s attack with the limb, and he had been drunk, in addition. Or, from the forceful bash on Clem’s skull, she could be right about Zeke getting rid of a problem. The group’s leader was clearly taking advantage of the situation; he was framing Red H
eart by using their arrows to mislead whoever found Clem’s body. Joe couldn’t allow that lie to be reported. He broke the shafts and put the feathered ends into his saddlebag. With no way or desire to bury Clem, he mounted. “Let’s go,” he said.
They rode to the spot where Zeke and his men had met with a large Crow party. They didn’t dismount until they visually scouted the area.
“They didn’t stay long. They joined up and left together. Their trail heads into Crow territory, doesn’t it?”
“Han. We follow while, maybe catch up, spy.”
“No, it’s too dangerous, too many of them. I wanted to see which direction Zeke and his boys took after their trade, but that’s not possible. We can’t ride into a Crow camp or risk an ambush.”
“You speak wise.”
“We’ll head for your camp so I can meet with your father. Then I have to ride to Fort Tabor to meet with Captain Thomas before I start looking around for clues. Thomas might know something helpful. I also want to give him the names of those men and their descriptions. If they come around the fort, Thomas can keep an eye on them. When I finish there, I’ll return to your camp to get that guide and translator I need.”
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