"I will be wise and careful, and I thank you for your good words."
Everyone returned to camp and the distressing episodes were related again. The warriors yearned to ride after the Crow and challenge them, but realized, from the advice of the shaman chief and council, that would leave their camp unprotected and probably provoke Wind Dancer's slaying. Plans were made for guarding the camp and hunting party while seasonal work was being done. The body of Raven was prepared and placed upon a burial scaffold constructed by his fellow Sacred Bow Carriers, which also meant another man must be chosen to take his place, as had occurred with Badger not long ago. The two fallen horses were honored and left for nature to claim.
Supplies needed by Chumani's rescue party were gathered and loaded on their mounts. She had War Eagle put a tether on Wind Dancer's war horse to take with them for her husband to ride during their escape, as that animal was the smartest, bravest, fastest, and most nimble and loyal one he owned. On a recently tanned deerhide, she placed an old and stained dress which for some reason she had not discarded or torn apart to use for other purposes. She added plain and long past useful moccasins from a friend who, strangely enough, also had not gotten rid of them. Chumani told the woman it was the mystical workings of the Great Spirit. The same was true for the frayed Crow blanket another friend gave to her for tossing over her head and shoulders under which she would stoop to aid her pretense. She secured a small pouch which contained white ash from a past fire and pale dirt used to mix with grease to make white paint which Hanmani had gathered for her to whiten her dark hair, along with the crushed wooden embers to smudge her face and arms and hands to help conceal their youthfulness. She laid a gnarled walking stick with a smoothed branch grip atop that pile. With all the props, she could disguise herself as an old woman and pass with no questions asked to reach her beloved. She tied the bundle and went to load it on her horse.
Tall Elk and Falling Rain arrived as she completed her preparations. She looked at her worried parents, smiled, and embraced them.
Tall Elk said in an emotion-constricted voice, "Ride with eagle eyes, the deer's speed, and the fox's cunning, my brave and generous daughter, for we must not lose you in this way. Take this; you know how to use it."
Chumani accepted the fieldglass which she considered great magic, as it would help her spy on the enemy camp from far away. She knew it was a gift from a French trapper many winters past for saving his life, one of the few wasicun who had visited their camp and been called a friend. She remembered how her father had made a clever game of teaching her and Fire Walker how to use and not fear the eye-glass. She hugged him. "Your heart is good, my father, and I thank you."
"Your love for your husband is large, my daughter," Magaju said, "but you must not endanger your life to save his unless a safe path is opened to you."
Chumani nodded. "I will do only what I must, Mother. Watch over Rainbow Girl while my brother rides with us. This separation will be frightening for her with their child growing inside her. Do not allow her to work too hard to distract herself from worries. We will both return soon."
"We will pray for our children to return to us unharmed and alive."
Once more, Chumani exchanged hugs with her parents. The others in her party joined her and she told her parents, "We must ride fast while the sun gives us light, for the dark moon will offer none after the sun sleeps."
Sees-Through-Mist stepped forward and said a prayer for the group's safety and success. He smiled at Chumani and added, "Many challenges and joys await you and your husband; you will both survive to meet them, for help will come in strange forms and ways."
"I do not understand your last words, Wise One."
The elderly shaman smiled again. "They will be clear soon."
Chumani glanced at all those who gathered around to bid them farewell and good luck. She took a deep breath and said to her companions, "We must ride, my friends; my love awaits our help." She had meant to say her husband, but she did not correct herself. She saw almost all of those around her smile knowingly. She looked at her hawk and summoned him. "Come, Cetan, for you travel and work with us this time."
"We must halt here, Dewdrops, where there is water for our horses and trees to conceal us," Red Feather urged. "Soon the sun sleeps and we can no longer see their tracks, for the moon wears a black face this night. We must rest and begin our task again when the sun returns to show us the way. Do not forget, they are less than a half-sun's ride ahead of us, and could he camped nearby. We cannot risk encountering their lookouts in the shadows. If we are sighted or attacked, all hope of saving Wind Dancer is lost to us."
Chumani could not dispute Red Feather's words, but she hated to stop the journey toward her husband. She could imagine the vile treatment he was enduring, if he still lived; and she prayed and must believe he did. Since he had not been slain with Raven and they had not come across his ... body, that had to mean Sroka intended to take him to their camp. If only they knew where Sroka's band was heading, other than in the direction from which the winter winds came, they would know if they had a short or long ride looming before them, and they could plan their impending actions better if they knew the camp's surrounding terrain. She nodded in agreement with Red Feather and dismounted as Cetan left her shoulder and perched in a tree. She tended the two horses, nibbled on food which Zitkala forced into her hands, drank water from the Sahiyhela River, then lay down upon her buffalo mat. She was glad no one tried to give her words of comfort, as her mind and heart were in no mood to hear them. She could not bear the thoughts of never seeing her beloved husband again, never kissing and touching him again, never hearing his voice again, never having him lie beside her and hold her in his arms . . . never to make love to her again. She closed her eyes as if that action would shut out such torment, but it did not appease her anguish.
Sleep eluded her for a long time, and then came only in short spurts. Each time she awakened, she prayed more fervently than ever to be able to reach him in time and to be given a way to save him.
Nearby, the others also sent forth prayers for Wind Dancer's survival.
Zitkala knew how she would feel if Red Feather were taken captive. She, too, would risk anything to save him, even her own life. She turned her head in his direction but could not see him in the darkness, as it was too dangerous to have a are. Yet, even lacking moonlight, she felt safe, as Cetan and the horses would alert them if anyone approached their location. As if Red Feather sensed her questing gaze, she felt his hand touch hers; and she gave it to him, just as she would give herself completely to him after the buffalo season. She would tell him that again, along with how much she loved him, when the sun rose. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she returned the gesture and smiled in happiness. After that comforting contact, she drifted off to sleep.
Wind Dancer entered the Apsaalooke camp still riding doubleback with Two Crows and amidst great excitement from its people, as several warriors had ridden ahead with news of his capture. They had traveled hard and fast and used all daylight for the past two suns. They had crossed two large rivers and reached the camp, which was situated on Rabbit Creek, at dusk. Once more he was aware of how the number two invaded his life.
Some of the women rushed forward to reveal their hatred and contempt of all Oglalas by either jabbing him with sticks or clawing and pinching him with their fingernails or by spitting upon his bare legs and moccasined feet, as he was clad only in a breechclout and leather footwear. Some of the male youths darted forth to show their courage by striking him on the legs or hips with open palms or balled fists. Others yelled insults and a few tossed rocks at him. Sroka did nothing to halt such abuses, as was his right to do; in fact, the leader foe appeared to enjoy such vicious behavior. Despite his harsh treatment and the stinging pains, the son of Rising Bear sat tall and proud, his expression impassive, before his bitter enemies. He knew this was only the beginning of the torture in store for him.
Pariskatoopa threw his leg over his horse
's head and leapt to the ground. He seized Wind Dancer by the left arm and yanked him down, the action almost causing him to stumble and fall. He straightened himself and locked his gaze on Sroka as the man related the bloodstirring event. He heard people mumbling words and sounds of praise and amazement; and he, too, was astonished by his first capture. He was bound to a large post in the center of camp with his ankles secured snugly to it and his arms stretched behind him so tightly he wondered if they would be pulled loose from his shoulders. He knew bruises and welts were rising on his body, just as he felt blood oozing from cuts and scrapes to slowly roll down his sweaty flesh. He was glad his cherished wife and people could not see him like this, and he prayed to Wakantanka to allow him to flee or to die with honor intact.
Wind Dancer listened as Sroka told his people they could touch and inflict small harms to him but that he must not be wounded badly or slain; and must not be given food or water or medicine. "Does Sroka need to weaken me before he can defeat me?" he scoffed. The man turned and glared at him, then grinned and refuted his taunt.
"You were not denied food and water during our journey."
Wind Dancer recalled how a few scraps of dried meat were tossed on the ground near him as if he were a dog, and how water was poured into his open mouth from a height above him which caused most of it to be lost in splashes over his face and neck. Yet, he had eaten and drank to retain his strength for escape. He stared at Sroka as the man taunted him again.
"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.
Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 27