***
November 1843
It was Dakota's tenth birthday, and he walked beside the river with Levi. A smile lit his eager young face as he ran his finger over the ivory-handled knife. With the joy of possession in his eyes, he slipped the knife into his leather scabbard. "I have wanted this ever since that day I first saw it, Levi," he admitted. "Are you sure my father will allow me to have it?"
"When we are alone, I want to speak in English, Dakota," Levi reminded him, "and yes, your father has agreed that I could give the knife to you." Levi spoke English with a clipped New England accent. His grammar was good since his father had been a schoolmaster, and he was even more careful with his pronunciation when he was with Dakota so the boy would learn proper English.
Levi had been a frequent visitor at the Arapaho village for years. He and Two Moons had become good friends, and he was allowed to spend time with Dakota to teach him of his heritage. Levi had been teaching Dakota to read and write English, and he was grateful that his own father had been a stern disciplinarian and had insisted Levi study his lessons six hours every day. Levi had been just fifteen when he had been struck with what his father had termed "itchy feet." He had left New England and had never returned. The mountains and prairies of the vast wilderness had called to him, and he soon found himself a respected guide and hunter. Civilization was still of no interest to him.
"Did you bring more books for me to read, Levi?" Dakota asked hopefully.
"Of course I did, you young scamp. I can't order them from St. Louis fast enough to suit you." Levi glanced at the black hair that hung about Dakota's shoulders. The boy's skin was so dark from the sun that it was hard to tell from a distance that he was not an Indian. He was sturdily built, his young body flexible and healthy.
Levi saw the golden locket Dakota wore about his neck. He remembered seeing it around Lady Cillia's neck. "Where did you get that?"
"My father gave it to me yesterday. He said it belonged to my white mother."
"That it did."
"Tell me about the white woman who was my mother. What was she like, Levi?"
"Well, why don't you open the locket and see for yourself? Your mother once showed me the likenesses of herself and your father inside."
Young Dakota looked bewildered. Turning the golden oval over in his hands, he shook his head. "I cannot see that it will open."
Levi reached out and touched the small catch, and the locket sprung open. "Now," he said, "look upon the faces of your real mother and father."
Dakota stared at the miniatures, his face almost reverent. He had never seen anyone as lovely as the woman. Her white skin only added to her fragile beauty. Her green eyes, so like his own, gave her a fanciful look. He stared at the man who was supposed to be his father, suddenly feeling resentment for him.
"Two Moons and White Wing are my real mother and father." He would have jerked the locket from around his neck, but Levi stopped him.
"I understand your feelings. You want to rebel against your real parents because you do not want to be white. Do not destroy the only link you have with Cillia and Holden Remington, because you may one day regret it."
"I do not want to be their son."
"I know, I know," Levi said, realizing it was time to change the subject. “Come and help me unload my packhorse so we can find your books."
Dakota closed the locket, determined never to look upon the faces of his true parents again. But he did. As time passed, he would often stare at the two images that haunted him and left him feeling very unsettled.
***
July 1846
Dakota was in his thirteenth summer when his life changed dramatically. It had rained earlier in the day, washing the land with a clean, fresh aroma. A warm sun beat down on the village when White Wing decided to take her two sons and cross the river to pick blackberries. On their way through the village, they encountered the chiefs daughter, Running Deer, who begged to be allowed to go with them. Now a party of four waded their mounts into the water and up the grassy slopes on the other side.
Black Otter kept insisting the whole time they rode along that this was woman's work and he should be hunting with the men, while Dakota only smiled, finding no shame in accompanying his mother.
White Wing and Running Deer were picking berries while Dakota and Black Otter sat nearby on a slope, keeping watch. White Wing was the first to hear the rustling in the bushes. Knowing that bears were drawn to blackberries, she listened intently. Now there was a loud thrashing sound joined with bellowing and growling. She grabbed Running Deer's hand and urgently took a step backward —another—and still another. White Wing knew they had disturbed a bear.
Black Otter jumped to his feet, his dark eyes bright with fear. "We will all be killed," he yelled out. "Flee, Mother, run."
By now the horses had picked up the bear's scent and were rearing and shying away until they finally broke loose from their constraints. Without stopping to consider his actions, Black Otter grabbed one of the horses, jumped on its back, and rode toward the river, hoping to put the safety of the river between him and the bear.
Dakota watched helplessly as his mother, in her haste to escape the animal, tripped and fell backward, dragging Running Deer to the ground with her. Now the bear emerged from the thicket, sniffing the air. Then, angry and crazed, he charged his fallen prey. Dakota knew that if he didn't do something, his mother and Running Deer would die!
Grasping the handle of his knife, he raced forward with no plan in mind, knowing only that he had to do something to save his mother.
"No, Dakota, no!" his mother cried, scrambling to her feet and clutching the frightened Running Deer to her. "Save yourself, my son."
Dakota was on a rise above the bear now, and his mother was no more than ten paces away from the hideous killer. He felt fear knot his stomach, but pushed it aside, knowing his father would expect him to act as a warrior. Leaping down the embankment, he landed in front of the bear. For an instant, the animal paused, distracted by his new quarry.
"Run, Mother. Run toward the river!" Dakota cried, poising his knife in front of him, even though he knew the flimsy blade would do little to deter the bear.
***
Black Otter was halfway across the river when he saw his father and several other warriors riding toward him at breakneck speed. Evidently they had heard the commotion. "Mother—a bear!" Black Otter cried when his father drew even with him. He watched as the warriors rode in the direction he had indicated, but he could not bring himself to follow them. Fear was coiled inside him like a snake and his young body trembled. When he reached the opposite bank, he jumped from his horse, but his knees were too weak to hold him and he fell to the ground, ashamed of his cowardice.
Women and children gathered about him, and when he could catch his breath, he told them what had occurred. "I rode for help," he said, trying to convince himself, as well as the villagers, that he had acted bravely.
***
The bear swiped at Dakota, and he felt the heavy blow that sent him reeling backward. With pain so intense he could hardly catch his breath, he somehow managed to scramble to his feet. Now, he had the bear's full attention, and the animal had forgotten about his mother. Dakota leaped backward, finding his route of escape blocked by the embankment. Now he had no choice but to fight, for the bear stood between him and freedom. He realized he had little chance of winning against the bear, but he would die as a warrior so his father would be proud of him.
He still clutched his knife, and with a forward thrust, Dakota buried it to the hilt in the bear's shaggy chest. A mighty roar went up that echoed around the valley, and the bear attacked Dakota, his claws tearing across the young boy's chest and laying the skin open to the bone. As Dakota fell to his knees, his last conscious sight was of the advancing bear!
Two Moons and his warriors topped the embankment just as the bear reached Dakota. With bow drawn, Two Moons aimed at the animal's heart and released the arrow, praying it would
hit the target. The bear stopped, his foam-flecked mouth now red with blood. The other warriors released their arrows and the savage killer toppled to the ground—dead!
White Wing ran to her wounded son, falling on her knees and pulling him into her arms. Soon her husband joined her, and he lifted the limp body in his arms.
"He was the bravest warrior I have ever seen," Running Deer said, her eyes brimming with tears. "He did not think about his own safety, but only of saving our lives."
White Wing's eyes held an urgency. "Will he live, my husband?"
Two Moons glanced down at the wound that had been laid open by the bear's claws. There was blood on Dakota's face, and his arm appeared to be broken. "He will live," his father said with assurance. "This brave little one has come too far to die now."
Dakota was unconscious and did not know that he rode in triumph in front of his father's war horse while all the village came out to pay homage to him for saving the life of the chiefs daughter. The story was told and retold about Dakota's bravery.
Black Otter stood on the outside of his father's tepee, his eyes flashing with jealousy, his heart filled with anger and a growing hatred. When Running Deer came up beside him, he turned angry eyes on her. "I do not want to hear from you how wonderful Dakota is. I am sick of hearing about his bravery. If I had not ridden for help, you would all be dead now."
Running Deer's eyes were soft and luminous. "He is truly touched by the Great One. I have never seen anyone so brave as your brother."
Black Otter felt rage eating away at him because he had always wanted the chiefs daughter, Running Deer, to look upon him with favor. He now knew that she favored Dakota. She did not try to hide her admiration or her feelings. "He is not my brother," Black Otter said through clinched teeth. "He is white, and has no right to be called 'son' by my father and mother."
Running Deer's eyes saddened. "He has earned that right today, because he saved your mother's life, as well as my own. He is so grievously wounded that I fear for his life. It would seem that you should be proud to call Dakota your brother. He is a great warrior, and it does not matter what color his skin is. He will always be honored among the Arapaho."
Black Otter turned away, needing to be alone. Though no one said anything, he knew they were thinking he had behaved as a coward today. He envisioned himself in Dakota's place, the medicine man fighting to save his life, the tribal members gathered outside the tepee, waiting for word of his condition, his mother and father in fear of his life. He, Black Otter, was all but forgotten while everyone sang praises to Dakota.
"I hate him," Black Otter cried aloud. "I wish he would die!"
Dakota was still weak from his wounds, but he was proudly seated in the circle of honor, his father on his left, the chief on his right. The warriors of the tribe were paying homage to one of their own. In the background, the women and children pressed forward to watch the solemn ritual.
Two Moons stood up, motioning for Dakota to do likewise. "From today forward, you shall be known as a warrior for your brave deed." He reached into a pouch and removed a necklace of bear claws and placed it around the young boy's neck. "White Wing and Running Deer have made this from the claws of the bear which threatened their lives, to honor you for your bravery. I, as War Chief, honor you and welcome you to the ranks of warriors of the Arapaho." His dark eyes told of his pride in Dakota, his son.
"But, my father," Dakota said in an awed voice, reverently fingering the bear-claw necklace, "it was not my hand that killed the bear."
His father smiled. "Yours was the first blow that was delivered to the bear. Who is to say it was not your knife that finally brought about his death? Inside your body there beats the heart of a true Arapaho warrior, my son."
The young boy's eyes shone with pride, and his heart swelled with the honor that was being paid to him. In his joy, he glanced at his brother, Black Otter, wanting to share this moment with him, since they had always shared everything. He was puzzled that his brother was not also being honored. That was when he saw the anger and resentment on Black Otter's face.
"What I did was not any more important than what my brother did. Without Black Otter summoning help, I would not be alive to receive this. I wish to honor him." Walking forward, Dakota removed the treasured bear-claw necklace and placed it around his brother's neck.
Black Otter's dark eyes narrowed, and he jerked the necklace from his neck and flung it away. "I do not want this, no more than I want you for my brother." He stalked away, leaving Dakota staring after him in concern.
White Wing touched her husband's arm. "One son does us honor, while the other shames us before the whole village."
2
March 1857
Levi Gunther halted his horse on the banks of the Wind River, noticing it was running swiftly because of the spring runoff. Across the river, looking peaceful in the noonday sun, lay the Arapaho village. When he nudged his horse into the shallow part of the river, he knew his coming would attract little attention since he was a frequent visitor. It was well known that he was a friend of the war chief, Two Moons, so he passed among the people unmolested.
As his horse moved past the tepees, he was haunted by old memories. Had it been twenty-three years since he had returned to the cabin by the Salmon River to find the decomposed bodies of Holden and Cillia Remington? He remembered reading Lord Holden's last thoughts and carrying out his wishes to be buried with his wife.
Levi had watched Dakota grow to manhood, and he knew the Remingtons would be proud of the man their son had become, even though it appeared his destiny was to become a great war chief of the Arapaho, not a tided lord in England.
The years had deepened the respect Levi and Two Moons had for each other. Levi and Dakota had become close, and by now Dakota could read and speak English as well as Levi. The hunter used every opportunity to tell the young warrior about England and his grandfather who wanted him to take his rightful place as Viscount of Remington. Dakota, though unimpressed by his illustrious grandfather, had always been fascinated by England.
Throughout the years, Levi had made two more trips to England to meet with the Marquess and advise him of the fate of his grandson. The fiery old man often demanded that Levi take his grandson by force if need be and bring him to London, a feat that Levi tried to convince him was impossible. Dakota was devoted to his Arapaho family. Dakota's skin might be white, but inside him beat the heart of an Indian.
As Levi's mount moved slowly through the village, he received many warm smiles. Suddenly his eyes met and locked with the dark, hostile eyes of Two Moons' blood son, Black Otter. The young warrior had always been jealous of his adopted brother, Dakota. Levi had seen the jealousy in Black Otter's eyes long before it developed into open hatred, and he had always been fearful that Black Otter would one day do Dakota harm. Once Levi had even warned Dakota about Black Otter, but Dakota had only laughed and told him he was becoming suspicious like an old woman.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Levi halted his horse before Two Moons' tepee. He was mystified as to why the War Chief had sent for him. Levi adjusted his buckskin shirt and smoothed his white beard before he called out to be admitted.
The flap was immediately pushed aside by the medicine man, who beckoned Levi to enter. The heat was oppressive as Levi stepped inside. Even though the day was warm, a fire had been laid, making it even more unbearable. Levi knew something was wrong when he saw Two Moons lying on his robe in the middle of the day. He was stunned when he saw how frail and ill Two Moons appeared.
"You have been gone from us for a very long time, Levi Gunther," the war chief said, beckoning him closer. "I began to think you would not return unless I sent for you." Two Moons' voice was so faint that Levi could hardly catch his words. Raising on his elbow, Two Moons gave the hunter a slight smile. "I would not want to pass from this world without you to disturb the tranquility of my last hours, my old friend."
Levi dropped down on a reed mat and crossed his legs,
while a worried frown creased his wrinkled face. As always, he spoke to the chief in the Arapaho tongue. "I can see that you are ailing, Two Moons. It is hoped you will soon recover."
The war chief fell back on his buffalo robe, his face plainly showing the agony he felt. "It is the sickness in my breast that festers and worsens. I will not recover, old friend." His eyes turned sad. "One of the things I will miss of this world is matching wits with you, Levi Gunther. You have become a friend to me and to my son Dakota."
"It saddens me to see you thus, Two Moons, but I know you will recover from this affliction and match wits with me for many years to come."
"That cannot be, my friend." This was spoken without remorse. T have not felt at home in this world since White Wing left me to walk with the spirits." His eyes darkened with desperation. "She has sent me a vision, and I must tell you about it."
Levi knew the Indians placed great importance in visions. "You are talking nonsense, my friend. Death will never find you on your pallet," he said, feeling sadness in his heart that such a strong and valiant man should weaken. "A warrior as great as you is destined to meet death in battle."
The medicine man came forward and raised Two Moons' head and gave him a drink of some foul-smelling liquid. After a fit of coughing, Two Moons waved the man away. He then turned his attention back to Levi. "It is because of what my wife reveals to me in the vision that I have asked you here. She has told me that Dakota must be with his own people. She has asked me to send him to his white grandfather across the great water."
Levi could not believe he was hearing correctly. For years he had been trying to convince Two Moons that Dakota belonged with his own people; now perhaps it was too late. "I do not know if Dakota will be content in the white man's world, Two Moons. He is twenty-three summers, and no longer young and impressionable. He is as much an Arapaho as you are."
Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) Page 3