Singing Wind asked how she had escaped her Crow captors.
Sun Cloud joined them, his dark gaze going back and forth between his daughter and the white man. He listened, waited, and watched.
Morning Star told her mother she’d been tricked and had much to tell her. “Taku ota eci ciyapi kta bluhayele.” Morning Star embraced her father, then related details of her misadventures.
While she talked, Joe stood still and silent. He had been told that Sun Cloud was the reflection of his father, Gray Eagle. He was tall, lithe, and muscular for a man of fifty-four. There were few strands of gray in a midnight mane that flowed past broad bronze shoulders and down a strong back. Sun Cloud’s eyes were almost as black as his hair and thick brows. His bones were as finely chiseled as any aristocrat’s. The one eagle feather secured behind his head and traveling downward was said to be worn always in honor of his slain father. He was not wearing his chief’s bonnet, but had a necklace around his throat that depicted his name. He was clad in a breechcloth, leggings, and moccasins. Sun Cloud was indeed the epitome of a great leader, an awesome warrior, and a dignified man.
Joe let his observant gaze slip to the woman with the chief and his daughter, Singing Wind. At fifty-four, as well, she was still beautiful and slim. He sensed a spirited nature in her that her daughter had inherited, as well as her awesome beauty. Her eyes were as brown as rich chocolate, but her hair was not as dark and long as Morning Star’s. The few wrinkles on her face did not detract from its loveliness. She carried herself as a lady, a woman of high rank and birth, a woman of importance. Joe detected no vanity or arrogance in either female, nor in Sun Cloud. That pleased him.
Joe assumed the warrior nearby was her brother, Night Stalker, who had been the leader of the pilgrimage to Bear Butte and who had returned home without her. He looked surprised at his sister’s arrival and angered by Joe’s presence and part in the rescue. He wasn’t as tall as his father, but he was more muscular. Nor did he have Sun Cloud’s handsome face and dignified carriage. A lance scar ran down his left side, and Sun Dance scars marred his broad chest. His dark hair was worn loose, but a headband held it in place. Joe knew this man would be one of his obstacles.
Joe’s eyes were pulled to a warrior next to Night Stalker. The man’s dark gaze was narrowed and chilled by the story he was hearing. Joe guessed his age in the early twenties and his height at five feet eleven inches. His hair hung in two thick braids, with coup feathers suspended near the bottoms of both plaits. A small knife was suspended from a thong about his neck. He, too, was wearing only a breechcloth, leggings, and moccasins. Joe perceived a coldness and arrogance in this bronze-skinned warrior whose chest displayed Sun Dance scars that proved his prowess. The only time the Oglala’s gaze altered was when it touched on Morning Star; then, open desire was apparent. Joe felt his temper rising against the warrior who craved Morning Star. He didn’t have to be told this was Knife-Slayer, and an enemy.
Many others, men and women and children, gathered around the group, but Joe returned his attention to the talk in progress and tried to catch a word here and there to learn how it was going.
“Why did you bring a white foe to our camp?” Knife-Slayer demanded in Lakota. “He will learn our strength and tell others, if he is not slain.”
“Hiya! Ito kawe kin papsunpi sni ye!” Morning Star shouted, saying not to spill Joe’s blood. “He is a friend,” she continued in her tongue. “He helped me. He is here to help us. Father, you must spare his life and heed his words.”
“How can an enemy help us?” Night Stalker asked.
Morning Star focused on her father. “He is our friend, Father. He can help us. He has a plan to draw our real enemies from hiding. If he does so, the soldiers will punish them.” To Joe, she said in English, “Speak the words to my father you say to me on trail.”
Joe’s blue gaze locked with Sun Cloud’s dark one. “I know only a few of your words, though Morning Star is teaching me more, so you must forgive me for addressing you in my language. I am not your enemy, Sun Cloud. The Great White Chief and most Americans want to live in peace with your people and all other Indian Nations. I am here with a man who is seeking answers to the troubles between whites and Indians. We’re here to help Agent Tom Fitzpatrick at Fort Laramie obtain a new treaty that all peoples can accept and honor. The real enemy in your territory is called Snake-Man. He sells guns, whiskey, and supplies to the Crow and encourages them to destroy the Lakotas. We don’t know why he wants war, but we must stop him before he begins a bloodbath in this area. If the Crow and Oglala go on the warpath, the Shoshone and Pawnee will side with the Crow; and the Cheyenne and Blackfoot will aid their allies, the Dakotas. Whites will be trapped between the warring tribes. More soldiers will come. Fitzpatrick has sent word to you about the new treaty, but you have not responded. Many things have happened, and your tribe has been blamed. I don’t think you’re guilty, but I need help proving it. I have to discover who Snake-Man is and capture him. If not, this area and all people here can have no peace.”
“If he is white, why do you side against him?” Sun Cloud asked.
“He’s evil. His actions cause the deaths of innocent Indians and whites. He enflames the hatred between the Oglala and Crow. It must stop.”
“We have always warred with Bird People!” Night Stalker shouted.
“That time must end, Night Stalker. If both tribes honor the new treaty and remain in their territories, peace is possible. I need a guide and interpreter, someone to teach me your people’s ways.”
“You seek to learn our ways to use them to destroy us,” Knife-Slayer accused in English. “You must die!” He reached for the blade at his waist.
Morning Star covered his hand. “Hiya! Wicake! I’ye waste!”
Sun Cloud noticed how the girl shouted in the white man’s defense, claiming he spoke the truth and was a good man. He didn’t have time at that moment to worry over the tone of her voice or the expression in her eyes.
“If we harm him, we harm ourselves!” Morning Star added in Lakota.
Knife-Slayer noticed her tone and gaze, and retorted in his tongue, “You are a woman, and his cunning rescue has blinded you. He must die.”
“I want peace and survival for my people. I am no coward. I will ride, track, and fight with him. I will be his tongue, ears, and teacher,” she avowed.
“No!” Knife-Slayer shouted. “He will trick you again, and slay you.”
The girl glared at the warrior for his subtle insult. “If such a threat was true, why do I stand here now, alive and unharmed?”
“You are his path to our camp, sister,” Night Stalker replied. “My band was riding at first light to rescue you. I could not come after you in Crow Territory. I saw many tracks. It was my duty to get others home safely.”
“It was your duty, brother, and I do not blame you for leaving me behind. The false clues were cunning. I knew you would be tricked by them. You must listen to this white man; his words are wise and true.”
Sun Cloud raised his hand and asked for silence. “Hold your tongues, my people. We will hear his words before his fate is decided. First, I must speak with him. We do not strike a death blow before we learn the truth.”
Though Joe could not grasp the rapid flow of Lakota between Morning Star, Night Stalker, and Knife-Slayer, he surmised that the two men were speaking against him and that Morning Star was pleading his good cause. Joe knew it was unusual for a woman to argue with men, especially in public. He was glad when Sun Cloud halted the heated words and turned to address him.
“For many winters, the Red Heart Band had a treaty with your leader and people. Why has it been broken? Why does White Chief Monroe let more whites and soldiers enter our lands? Why have more forts been placed on the face of Mother Earth? Soon they will encircle us and tighten as a rope on a wild stallion’s neck to choke the life from us. Why do they make more trails through our lands? Why do they settle on our sacred and hunting grounds? Why do they give and sell s
upplies and weapons to our foes? Why have they set their eyes upon the buffalo, our life’s blood? Why do they bring their diseases to sneak upon us in the night and slay us?”
Joe held silent and let the chief continue.
“We were foolish to allow the first white footprints on our land. Now their tracks are everywhere. They refuse to leave, and they battle us to stay. We are forced to fight them to save our land and people. The leader called Broken-Hand at Laramie asks us to sign a new treaty with the whites and our foes. It is no good. The whites and Crow would not honor it.”
Joe had listened closely and respectfully and hoped he wouldn’t forget any of Sun Cloud’s questions, even though most had been spoken as statements of fact and feeling. “Tom Fitzpatrick, Broken-Hand, is a good man. He is fair and honest. You knew him when he trapped in this area. He respects your people, and he knows the Indian ways. He wants peace between all tribes and whites. As long as tribes war against each other, white travelers are in danger and more soldiers and forts will come to give them protection. You don’t want that, so it’s wise and good to make treaty so all sides can survive and be happy. Most battles are fights over hunting grounds and revenge for raids. If every tribe stays in its own territory and doesn’t attack another, peace will come, Sun Cloud.”
“We have warred with our enemies since long before the birth of my grandfather and his father,” Night Stalker shouted. “How will marks on a paper stop a war passed from father to son for more winters than are marked on the buffalo record of our people?”
“By everyone wanting and needing peace and survival more than scalps and war prizes,” Joe responded in a calm and careful tone.
“Words come easy from your mouth, White man. Honor does not come easy from the Crow or your people. Another treaty matters not.”
“The first treaty never reached the hands of the White Chief Monroe,” Joe revealed. “Derek Sturgis, friend to Gray Eagle and Sun Cloud, was injured in a fire that destroyed his dwelling and the paper. He did not live to return to make another one. Our new White Chief is President Fillmore. He desires a treaty. I am here as his helper to make truce.”
“You speak for the new White Chief?” Sun Cloud asked.
“Yes. I speak for him through the man who brought me here.”
“He lies to save his life,” Knife-Slayer charged. “He will betray us.”
“It is true many forts have been built in this vast territory,” Joe revealed, “but they are to protect our Indian allies as well as white settlers. They defend everyone against bad whites, called outlaws, and against bad Indians, called renegades. Such men attack good Indians and good whites. Fort Tabor’s soldiers do not attack the Lakotas. Neither does Fort Laramie where Broken-Hand lives and works for peace. When the soldiers battle, it’s to punish and halt attacks on innocent people. It’s true a trail crosses to the south of your lands. Most whites are riding far to the west to begin new lives. Some halt and settle here; they’re tired and have no money to continue to their destination. They want to live in peace. They—”
“Peace!” Knife-Slayer interrupted in anger. “They—”
Sun Cloud halted the furious warrior and said, “Let him speak, Knife-Slayer. He did not break into my words. You can speak later.”
“The white man who sells weapons to your enemies is bad,” Joe continued. “He must be caught and punished. Your father, Gray Eagle, was a great chief. He wished for peace and survival. Long ago, you did the same. It must be that way again, Sun Cloud. Give me the help I need,” he urged.
“How do we know this warrior would be safe at your side?”
Joe anticipated resistance to the suggestion he was about to make, but his plan was clever enough to work. “What I need and request is a brave and smart woman to lead me to the Crow camps and white settlements. The evil whites would not suspect a white trader or trapper with an Indian wife of being a spy. We could go anyplace together and search for clues.”
“You speak of my sister, Morning Star?” Night Stalker asked.
“Another trick!” Knife-Slayer charged. “He will hold her prisoner. Think of Morning Star’s value to the bluecoats.”
“If I wished to take her captive, there was plenty of time on the trail,” Joe pointed out.
“You did not so she would lead you to our village!”
“That isn’t true. Besides, I don’t want Morning Star as my helper. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want Sun Cloud’s daughter harmed. That would cause more distrust between us. Select the woman best trained to help me.”
“I best,” Sun Cloud’s daughter stated. “I know Oglala land. I speak English and understand Crow signs. I have warrior skills.”
“No, Morning Star. I can’t risk your life again. It’s too perilous. Sun Cloud has lost too many of his family. It must be another female.”
As Knife-Slayer, Night Stalker, and Morning Star argued amongst themselves, warriors whispered and watched. Those who knew English explained the situation to others nearby who didn’t. Then they passed along the shocking news to Red Hearts distant from the center of activity.
A man with narrow, piercing eyes stepped forward. “Wicakewala sni. Wowocake sni. Kastaka.” “Who is he? What did he say?” Joe murmured to the stunned girl at his right. He had a dark suspicion of his words, and dread washed over him.
Morning Star felt her heart race and her mouth go dry. A chill passed over her as if she were standing barefoot and naked in the snow. She had feared this man’s resistance and hatred, and, more so, his power. It was up to Joe to change her people’s mind. “Hawk Eyes, our shaman, father of Knife-Slayer,” she replied. “He says you lie and must be slain.”
Joe knew it was a bad sign for such a powerful man to talk against him. He saw the looks on most faces that said they agreed or would follow any advice given by their medicine chief and holy man. He read mistrust and hostility in some faces. He read confusion in others. In a few stoic expressions, he could glean no clue to their thoughts and feelings. “I do not lie, Hawk Eyes. All I have said is true. I come as a friend, an ally.”
“I say his mouth must be silenced by death this moon!” was the shaman’s reply, this time in English and spoken as a command.
Two strong warriors seized Joe’s arms. Morning Star panicked. Even if they refused to give Joe help, she could not let him be slain. But what could she say or do to save his life? Nothing came to her terrified mind.
Alarmed and desperate, a bold and cunning idea entered Joe’s head. He prayed Morning Star would understand his motive and keep his secret. If he didn’t attempt it, he was a dead man, and war was a certainty. If he did and she exposed him, he was a dead man. He glanced at her frightened expression and decided his ruse was worth the risk he would take.
Chapter Four
Joe shouted over affirmative “yips” of the Kit-Fox cult and murmurings for and against killing him, “Sun Cloud! I’m Tanner Gaston! The son of Stede Gaston! Son of Powchutu, son of Running Wolf, your grandfather! I only use the name Joe Lawrence to trick evil whites! I’m Tanner Gaston!”
As the warriors, who did not understand English, yanked at Joe, Sun Cloud raised his hand and ordered them to halt and release him. The chief stared at the white man as those shocking words struck home like flaming arrows. The braves unhanded Joe and looked at their leader for an explanation.
“He speaks words I must hear,” Sun Cloud related in Lakota.
“Do not listen to more lies!” Knife-Slayer shouted.
Sun Cloud sent the Sacred Bow Carrier a warning glance to be silent, then returned his probing gaze to the stranger.
Joe took that as a sign to finish his startling revelation. “Stede Gaston, my father, is the man who brought me here. He’s waiting for me at Fort Laramie. He works with Broken-Hand and President Fillmore for peace. My father is old and injured. I’m here as his legs, arms, eyes, ears, mouth, and heart. The Great Spirit called him to his father’s lands to make peace.”
While Sun Cloud and others who
knew English gaped at the white stranger and Morning Star did not interrupt him, Joe hurried on to save his life and his mission. “My grandfather, Powchutu, was the firstborn son of Running Wolf. If the chiefs bonnet hadn’t been stolen from his head by evil when his mother married a French trapper and denied Running Wolf his son, Powchutu would have been chief in Gray Eagle’s place. When my grandfather was forced from these lands he loved and his rightful rank was stolen from him, my father was born and raised as white, as was I. When danger came to these lands, the Great Spirit troubled his heart and called him here to help save his people, the Oglalas. We are of the same bloodline, Sun Cloud. Would you slay your cousin? Your friend? Your ally?”
Night Stalker found his voice and shouted a translation to his people. He dared not accuse the stranger of lying until his father decided it was or wasn’t the truth. He didn’t want the white man’s arrival and words to intrude on his life and desires. The Oglala had been given many challenges from the whites and Crow during the last few years, but his father had continued to urge for peace. Night Stalker didn’t believe peace was possible. He believed his warriors should confront their enemies in glorious battles— battles that would drive the whites and Bird People from their lands forever; battles that would bring him many coups, wealth, and prestige as in the olden days. He wanted to prove his wits and prowess, especially after failing to rescue his sister. He wanted to defend his lands and people, and to earn the chief’s bonnet soon. He did not want to lie around and grow lazy and fat. He did not trust the whites, and he was restless from the long, quiet winter in camp.
Payaba made his way through the whispering crowd. Once known as Standing Tree and shaman, he declared in the Lakota tongue in a strong voice that belied his eighty years, “I say he speaks the truth. Has Sun Cloud and the council forgotten my vision of twenty winters past?” For those who didn’t recall it and those who hadn’t heard it, the old man repeated it. “Look at his eyes and hair. Think of his bloodline and words. As my vision warned, a season of bitter conflicts and greed have destroyed truce with the whites. Two men have come to our land to help us defeat this first trouble. He speaks the truth. He is Sky Warrior, the white helper we have awaited for twenty winters. I say we must listen and accept his words. We must help him. To do so obeys Grandfather’s commands in my sacred vision.”
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