Running Wolf summoned the aid of several braves to search for his family; they, too, discovered no sign or news of them. The search spread out into the surrounding area: the nearby forest and the riverbank that barely contained the turgid flow of violently agitated water.
Moon Gazer gave a loud yell from downstream. The others hurried to where he was squatting. His dark gaze was bright with distress and fury. Running Wolf, his heart heavy with panic and anguish, dropped to his knees to study the signs that Moon Gazer was pointing out. HeWho-Stands-Tall-Like-The-Tree added another torturous clue to their rapidly formulating conclusion: from the nearby bushes, he held up the buckskin garments that had been tossed there to conceal them. He told of the boot tracks left there, and the significance of that additional clue needed no further deliberation.
Moon Gazer traced the boot tracks to where two horses had been hidden and noted the direction their enemies had taken. Talking Rock traced a more ominous trail to the edge of the turbulent river. Knowing how futile his visual search was, he frantically strained to scan each side of the riverbank for a lengthy distance. Accidentally ensnaring several blades of stained and withered grass as he retrieved a tormenting clue, he hurried to where Running Wolf was anxiously talking with the other braves.
“The Bluecoats have dared to steal the wife and son of our great warrior and my son! Their fort that stands upon the face of Mother Earth will be destroyed for this unforgivable deed! We must prepare to ride!”
His hate-clouded eyes scanned the leaden sky overhead. “We must not wait for Wi to guide us. When the snow comes, their trail will be lost to us. Moon Gazer, summon two braves and ride swiftly to warn my son of this new treachery. Talking Rock, call the warriors together. We ride for revenge and to rescue my family.”
Talking Rock sighed heavily, wishing he was not the one to deliver the bad news to his chief and friend. In a distinct voice whose strain could not be controlled, he stated, “The Bluecoats did not take Princess Shalee.”
All eyes focused upon the stalwart brave and exposed their confusion. Several colorful beads dropped to the hard earth as Talking Rock displayed the object he had been holding behind his back: the severed, bloodstained headband of Princess Shalee. Talking Rock could barely master his quavering voice as he informed the stunned group, “Her trail leads to the mighty river; it does not return. The blow that placed her blood upon her headband and broke it was a fierce one. The signs say she fell into the water and was quickly swept away. She was taken by surprise, for there was no struggle.”
Running Wolf instantly protested. “Perhaps she was injured and the Bluecoats carried her off!”
Lines of anguish furrowed Talking Rock’s forehead. “It is not so, Running Wolf. The weight of her limp body would have changed the depth of the Bluecoats’ tracks upon Makakin’s face; it did not. My keen eyes searched the hands of the mighty river that hold her fury back; there is no sign of her. The currents are swift and demanding; the water is cold and icy. Injured and weakened, Shalee could not have saved herself. Surely she walks with the Great Spirit now. We must avenge her and return Bright Arrow to his people.” He sought to turn their minds from the obviously lost Shalee to the endangered son of Gray Eagle.
Not that they doubted the skills or words of Talking Rock, but the warriors rushed forward to discern the clues for themselves. A cry of agony rent the air as Running Wolf could not disagree with Talking Rock’s statements. Still, hope did not give in to despair so easily. “Man-Of-Two-Feathers, take braves and search both sides of the river. If she lives, she must be found quickly. Come, we ride,” the furious chief ordered, turning to lead the way.
In less than twenty minutes, Moon Gazer was heading toward the Sisseton Camp with his gloomy news; ManOf-Two-Feathers and his small band of braves set out upon their futile search of the river banks; then, Running Wolf and Talking Rock left with a band of valiant men painted for war. Leah watched them ride away in different directions. Perhaps Bright Arrow could be rescued; if not, she would gladly bear the noble Eagle another son. A cruel sneer twisted her lips as she delighted in the knowledge that Shalee was lost to that puissant and compelling warrior. Soon, he would require a female to soothe his anguish and to sate his needs. Who better than a female who strikingly resembled his lost love?…
It was two suns since Gray Eagle’s departure, and three more days had passed before two groups of Indians thundered into the winter camp of the awesome Sioux, joining another one, which had returned empty-handed the day before. As if mystically ordered to utter silence, the warriors wordlessly and solemnly headed to the Tribal Council as the call severed the silence: “Ku-wa, Oglala, Oyate Omniciye!”
His heart thudding and his senses tasting a fear he had never known before, Gray Eagle sat down upon his mat and crossed his sinewy legs. So many emotions racked his towering frame that he dared not speak. His mind in a vicious turmoil, he could not think clearly. His warring thoughts kept returning to an agonizing day over five winters ago when other Bluecoats had attacked his village and stolen Shalee, then Alisha Williams, from his side. That time, he had humiliated the soldiers, destroyed their wooden fort, and retaken his love. But this time was different: His only son was a prisoner of the white dogs and his cherished wife’s fate was unknown. The Bluecoats did not need to slay him to destroy him; the loss of his only son and wife would accomplish that seemingly impossible feat for them!
Gray Eagle’s imploring gaze went to the bowed head of Man-Of-Two-Feathers, his aura speaking louder and clearer than his words could. If he was to control his wits, Man-Of-Two-Feathers’ report must come last. Gray Eagle swallowed several times to force the lump from his throat before he could speak. The others remained silent, knowing how difficult this situation was for their great warrior, sharing his anguish and fury.
“Michenkshe?” Running Wolf tenderly spoke to his somber son.
“Speak, Father; tell us how to return Bright Arrow to his people.” Gray Eagle encouraged the dull-eyed man to handle this trying episode, suspecting his turmoil would perilously glaze his wits.
Their gazes met and locked, each feeling the pain in the other. As Running Wolf spoke, Gray Eagle noted the weariness and dejection in his father. “The fort is strong, my son; there are many Bluecoats there. This act will call for much strength, cunning, and bravery. Perhaps I am too old and weak to lead my people this time,” he slowly announced.
“You have enjoyed the breath of the Great Spirit for only sixty winters, Father. Your body speaks of strength; your heart of courage; and your mind of cunning. It is not so with me. My keen senses are dulled with sadness and worry. Even my courage wavers before such deadly odds,” Gray Eagle stated, but his warriors did not believe such words. There was no man braver or more cunning and daring than Gray Eagle. No man could boast of coups to match his in number or in greatness. Once the shock of this deed wore off, he would also realize these truths.
“We watched the white man’s fort as Wi awakened and until he slept once more.. I saw no way to enter there and hold our lives safe. The trees are lashed together so tightly, no eyes or arrow could sneak through them. They are so tall, no warrior could sneak over them. Even at night, it would be impossible, for the cunning Bluecoats have sharp lances pointing downward from the top of the wooden guard around them. Many white-eyes guard the fort in all directions. They have many weapons and supplies. No plan comes to my old mind,” Running Wolf stated regretfully.
Next came a question Gray Eagle had to ask, “Do you think Bright Arrow lives?”
As if reflecting a war dance, glittering images moved within his eyes. “Though we stayed hidden, the Bluecoats knew we were there. They knew we would track them to their hiding place. Three times as Wi gave his light, Bright Arrow was shown to us from the small wooden tepee at the top of the pointed trees where the Bluecoats stand guard. Your son is brave; he does you great honor. Not once did he cry or call for help. He stood straight and tall beside his enemies.”
Gray Eagle sig
hed in relief: alive and well. But a difference more deadly than their skin colors separated the Indians from the whites there. “The white-eyes spoke no words to you?” he pressed.
“Each time they revealed Bright Arrow, they spoke only your name: Gray Eagle. They call for you to come and talk. Their meaning is clear; they want the son of Running Wolf, not the son of Gray Eagle.”
“Man-Of-Two-Feathers,” Gray Eagle addressed the other frightful subject. “Speak of your search.” He could not bring himself to say her name, dreading the effect of it before his warriors.
Man-Of-Two-Feathers cleared his throat loudly. “We searched the riverbanks on either side for countless lengths of our strides. We found nothing.”
“Nothing?” Gray Eagle echoed incredulously. How was that possible?
“Princess Shalee could not be found. There were no tracks leading from the riverbanks,” he added, knowing what the others would deduce from those words. To give lingering hope, he said, “Perhaps the snows covered any trail she made when she left the water.”
Gray Eagle withdrew the broken headband from his waist. He looked at it for a long time. The dried blood had flaked and fallen off the hard, smooth beads; but not before he had viewed it. His mind’s eye could still envision that ghastly sight when it had been reluctantly placed within his grasp in the Sisseton Camp. Could she still live with such an injury and exposure to the freezing water? His keen and troubled mind said no, but his painriddled heart screamed yes. What had she said to him so recently? Something about evil often being more powerful than good? Something about the fear of being too happy? No, he would never accept her death until he viewed her lifeless body!
His body assaulted by conflicting emotions, his fathomless gaze shifted from one man to the next until it halted upon the face of his father beside him. “Perhaps I have become too proud and confident in my coups. Perhaps the Great Spirit seeks to teach me humility and trust in Him. Perhaps He tests my courage, patience, and faith. If He has called Shalee to live at His side, I will avenge her death. But I will never mourn for her until she rests upon the death scaffold before my eyes. If it is as you say, Father, there is but one way to save the life of my son.
Running Wolf started to interrupt his son, but controlled his outburst, as it was not their way to halt the flow of words from another during council. Gray Eagle continued. “The Bluecoats view my name as their most feared enemy, not the man Gray Eagle himself. They will not rest until it is sung with the Death Chant. Without Shalee and my son, my heart will slowly die. I must prove my courage and faith in the Great Spirit; I must trade my life for that of my son. Perhaps Wakantanka has chosen Bright Arrow to be the next leader of the Oglala, not Gray Eagle. If He so wills, both our lives will be spared. Bright Arrow’s safety and life must be considered before mine. Moon Gazer, begin a new search for Shalee. If she lives, Wakantanka will lead you to her. I will ride to the fort. This bitter deed must be done quickly.”
Sleep did not come to Gray Eagle that night; his barren tepee was oppressive and lonely. He lay upon his back on his mat, his forearm resting over his closed eyes. There was no decision to be made; the events settled the matter for him. If he refused the demand of the Bluecoats, the body of Bright Arrow would be tossed outside the wooden fort. Many times the Bluecoats had brutally slain innocent women and children; yet they called his people savages! Was there no mercy or kindness within the white hearts that invaded his lands? Was there no price too great to pay for their greed? For certain, his sacrifice could be endured far more easily than that of his wife and son. He could not live with such cowardice and shame.
For the first time in Gray Eagle’s life, tears eased from his jet eyes and slipped into the midnight braids on either side of his face. How could his heart bear such grief or his mind such torture? Time and time again, vivid images of Shalee’s face flashed before his mind’s eye. Her smile enticed him; her green eyes glowed with love and vitality. His warring senses could almost hear her happy laughter, which bubbled like a gentle waterfall. The fresh scent of her hair and body called to him from the mat and her possessions. How his arms ached to hold her, his lips to kiss hers. How could he breathe when she was his air? How could he live when she was his heart? Pressing the headband to his quivering lips, he murmured soulfully, “Shalee, my one true love, you must be returned to me; or I must come to you.” What did his pride matter now? If she was dead, he might as well be dead, too.
Some monstrous evil had thrown him into a dark and bottomless pit to bury him alive, if this now wretched existence could be called living. Shovel after shovel of grief and bitterness were tossed upon his helpless body until he felt he couldn’t breathe. For years, the greeneyed, auburn-haired, fair-skinned English girl had lived as Princess Shalee, his cherished and honored wife. Their ageless love had grown stronger than the surging white waters of death from the snow-swollen river and blazed hotter than the fiery sun that warmed the domain of the Eagle himself. But some treacherous and mighty force had stolen her from his side.
During their tormenting journey toward perfect love and harmony, he had rescued her many times before from the awesome hands of death and danger. Somehow, some way, he must find her again. But could he this time? Was the Bird of Death more powerful than the mighty Eagle? Had he taken her beyond his reach this time? How could he ever endure the permanent loss of his brazen ecstasy? He could not. Devastated, he allowed the tears to flow freely as his powerful body shook with anguish.
Chapter Four
The very instant there was sufficient light the next morning, Gray Eagle left his tepee to join his father. Leah had been awaiting this very moment and had mentally practiced her ploy well. Disregarding custom, Gray Eagle threw the flap aside and entered his father’s tepee to find only Leah present. Without a word to the white captive, he turned to leave.
Leah called out to him, “Gray Eagle.” When he halted and turned to gape at her, she hurried forward and spoke rapidly, “I’m so sorry about Bright Arrow and Shalee. I wish there was some way I could help. You must eat before you ride away; you will need strength to conquer your enemies,” she stated, offering him wasna and wine from the buffalo berries. “This will warm you and give you energy.” Phony tears and a quavering voice were used to further her ruse.
Gray Eagle’s steady gaze went from the items in her trembling hands to her teary eyes. For a brief moment, he couldn’t look away. Cunningly, Leah had enhanced her resemblance to Shalee. Before he could master himself, anguish was mirrored in his black eyes. His mind so deeply troubled, he did not realize Leah was wearing one of Shalee’s dresses and her favorite beaded thongs to secure her auburn braids.
Having studied Shalee closely, Leah presented his frozen gaze with an expression and smile that matched her rival’s. She wisely did not speak, knowing her deeper voice would break her deceptive spell. She merely stood still and silent as those compelling eyes in his arresting face stayed glued to her upturned features. Abruptly his eyes chilled and he shook his head to clear it of some strange image that clouded and disappeared before- he could comprehend it. “Hiya!” he stated harshly, refusing the food and dismissing her.
As he whirled to leave once more, Leah’s softened words repeated, “I’m truly sorry for your pain, Gray Eagle. I pray you will find them quickly and safely.”
Without responding, Gray Eagle was gone. Leah smiled in satisfaction. The first seed was planted. When his physical and mental torments became too great to bear, the seed would sprout and take hold. If he couldn’t have his precious Shalee, he would soon desire the next best thing! She quickly changed clothes, aware of the danger if someone recognized Shalee’s garment. When no one was around, she would return it to where she had stolen it some days past.
By midmorning of the second moon since leaving his camp for possibly the last time, Gray Eagle sat majestically upon his mottled Appaloosa just out of range from Fort Henry. He sat alone and proud without a trace of warpaint upon his handsome visage. He wore no wanapin and
carried no weapon for the Bluecoats to demand, to be later exhibited as a boastful war trophy. What a magnificent and intimidating sight he was, sitting like a bronze statue upon a spectacular beast of white and gray.
Gray Eagle waited for the imminent battle of wits and words with his self-acclaimed enemies. A bitter taste teased at his mouth. There was no excitement or anticipation to this coming challenge; there was no eagerness to prove his great prowess. There were no coups to be earned this vile day. For his illustrious career to end in this humiliating manner tore viciously at his pride. It was unimaginable for a warrior to be forced calmly to hand his life over to his enemies without a fierce battle for that honor! He had never considered or envisioned a death not in honorable battle or with a weapon in his hands. To enter that hostile fort was like rashly walking into the outstretched arms of the awesome grizzly; yet, he must do just that. Perhaps his self-sacrifice required more honor and courage than a terrible battle.
The heavy gate to the fort slowly opened enough for a sutler to slip through, then instantly closed and locked once more. Confident in his safety, the man walked toward the lone rider who awaited him. It was not an Indian or a half-breed who was approaching him; it was a white man dressed in fringed buckskins, a fort peddler with hair like a raging fire. His feet were encased in knee-high moccasins and his wiry hair by a skin hat. He was tall and solid. If fear or respect lived within him, his movements and expression hid it.
Within two feet of the legendary warrior, he halted and looked directly into the obsidian eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. He didn’t ask if Gray Eagle spoke English; he addressed him in fluent Sioux. This situation a foregone conclusion, few words needed to be spoken aloud. The gravel voice stated brusquely, “Our leader Major Hodges offers a trade: your life for your son’s. Do you accept his terms?” asked the huckster, whose trade depended on Hodges’ whims.
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