Stolen Ecstasy

by Janelle Taylor

  Luck rode with Rebecca, for she found the plants without trouble or delay. She hurriedly pulled them, careful not to ruin the precious roots. She placed them inside her bag and rode for camp, arriving just in time to savor the fish that Sucoora had cooked. Rebecca watched from her safe spot as Bonnie force-fed the stew to the girls. She sensed a drastic change in Tansia, but was afraid to question it. Again sensations of utter helplessness and frustration assailed her.

  Rebecca couldn’t sleep that night. She was torn between praying for Bright Arrow’s swift return and praying he would not return until this disease had ended. She tried not to blame him or his family for this tragic episode in their lives, but it was hard not to seek blame from some source. She was so afraid she would take ill and be unable to provide food and protection for her family and close friends. No one, except White Antelope, had approached their tiny camp since the monstrous illness had reared its ugly head and seized many victims in its sharp and lethal talons. Their survival appeared to be in her quivering hands. She unselfishly prayed that she would remain healthy and strong.

  That next morning, the news from Bonnie was bad. Tansia was worse; Moon Eyes was weakening; Pretty Rabbit was covered in a rash; and Little Feet was still feverish. Rebecca panicked. Until now, she had never truly accepted the staggering reality that she could lose her middle child to death. She wanted to rush to Moon Eyes’s side, but Bonnie demanded she stay clear of the infected area. She told her the child was too delirious to know her mother was there. Of all the girls, Little Feet was faring the best. Bonnie declared that they must not let the disease spread to the tepee, or lose their hunter.

  Rebecca noticed Bonnie’s fatigue and determination. Respect and affection for the sunny-haired girl filled her. She fretted over Windrider’s return. They must watch for him and warn him of the danger in his camp. She was about to go hunting when Shooting Star and White Antelope suddenly appeared. From their expressions, she knew something was terribly wrong. She listened apprehensively.

  Three Indians had died. Many were covered in a rash. Each day others were attacked by fever or redness on the skin. White Antelope knew he was coming down with the sickness. Shooting Star revealed that his wife and daughter were ill. They learned of others who were suffering. Rebecca asked White Antelope why he wasn’t resting and taking care of himself. He told her he must get food for his family and for others who were too weak to hunt. She shook her head sadly and her eyes teared as he informed her of the chief’s refusal to banish those stricken and to burn all things that had touched the white man or his belongings. She could easily detect the alarm in the man’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, White Antelope. The sickness lives on the trader’s possessions and on the possessions of those who have touched him or his belongings. If you do not burn them, the sickness will spread to others. You must put up another camp. Take those who are ill there. Let no one enter or leave the new camp. Also send those who have touched the sickness of others. It is the only way to capture the disease. See how we keep our sick away? See how we are not attacked by it at this distance? I place food within their reach. You must do the same. We touch nothing they touch,” she declared, pointing to those in the lean-to. “Anyone who gets well must tend the sick, as Bonnie does in our camp. You are safe from the enemy once you have conquered it. Do you understand?” she pressed.

  The man wavered with fever and discomfort. Rebecca warned herself not to reach out and help him. “There is nothing more I can say or do, White Antelope. You must rest. Tell Yellow Buckskin Girl to force water and soup into your mouth if you go to sleep with fever.”

  The two warriors departed. Rebecca could not know that this would be the last time she would look into the face of Shooting Star. Never again would she see him or his wife, White Bird, or their daughter, Prairie Flower, who had tended and entertained Windrider’s children and her own many times. Nor did she suspect that she would never speak with Yellow Buckskin Girl again.

  Rebecca wearily mounted, then dismounted. She wasn’t trained to hunt on horseback, she realized. She would only succeed in scaring off any game in her path. She must travel by foot, cautiously and quietly. First she would retrieve her rifle. She hadn’t thought about it until today. As she headed for the spot where she had hidden it, sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt slightly dizzy and trembly. When she reached the fallen tree, she sat down to master her rapid respiration. Slowly she slid to the ground and leaned against the rough bark to steady her spinning head. She felt terrible. Her stomach was churning and her eyes begged to close, if only for a few moments.

  When she opened them, there was a brawny warrior standing in her line of vision. She knew he was not Cheyenne. He was studying her closely. She eyed his weapons, which were not drawn as yet. He neither approached her, nor departed peacefully.

  Summoning her courage and strength, she asked, “Do you speak English?” When he didn’t respond, she knew his action might be from pride or reluctance. “If you do, stay away from me and the Cheyenne camp. There is much sickness and death there. Anyone who enters the camp or touches us will be attacked by this powerful ill— ness.

  The warrior appeared not to understand her words. Removing his parfleche, he dropped it to the ground. He reached for his hunting knife; the sharp blade glistened in the sun as he lifted it. His midnight eyes never left her face, which paled at his intimidating action.

  “I swear to you it’s the truth,” she vowed faintly. “You must not touch me or go near their camp. You will take the sickness and death back to your people. Is my scalp and life worth the lives of your family and tribe? Please, I must hunt food for my children and those of Windrider. The braves are sick and cannot hunt. Windrider left with his friend Bright Arrow; they won’t return for many days. If you kill me, there’s no one to protect and feed our children. I have nothing to trade for my life… except your safety and survival.” She made the Indian signs for peace and friend, with no reaction. In Sioux, she named herself Bright Arrow’s woman. In Cheyenne, she asked for truce.

  When he didn’t reply or appear moved by her desperate words, she yelled at him, “Damn you! Answer me! I don’t know how else to reach you, to make you understand! The Cheyenne camp is death to anyone who enters it. I’m death to anyone who touches me! Kill me if you wish, but you and your people will suffer and die for it.”

  He took a few steps. Then he raised the knife, slicing deftly and quickly through the skin into the tender meat. Blood ran between his strong fingers. As he held up the warm red flesh, he smiled…

  Chapter Seventeen

  On September nineteenth, Bright Arrow arrived in the Sicangu camp. He hoped none of his Teton brothers recognized him as the son of Gray Eagle, chief of the Teton Oglalas. It was alleged that the Teton Sioux ruled a long stretch of the big river in this territory. Farther north, the Arikaras lived in fear of their awesome Sioux prowess.

  At mid-afternoon, Bright Arrow guided his canoe over to the shore near the Brule camp. He laid his oars aside and stepped out, securing the rope on his canoe to a small bush. He casually glanced around as he pretended to flex muscles that would be sore and stiff from a lengthy journey. A large keelboat and two pirogues were anchored in the middle of the river. From talk he had overheard, he had gleaned several facts. The two captains and a few men were meeting with the chief and his council; most of the white men had remained on the boats.

  Seizing his possessions, he walked toward the Brule chief’s lodge. Halfway there, he halted to stare at a man he was hopeful would recognize him as Clay Rivera. His dark eyes settled on James “Murray” Murdock. He had met Murray at Robert Dickson’s trading post on Lake Traverse. Several times they had talked at the Englishman’s post. If Murray or Dickson or any other white man present at the time had doubted his identity as Clay Rivera, no one had let on to him. Murray, a man known for his hunting skills and courage, seemed alert and smart. Bright Arrow would know soon if he had this amiable man fooled, for he was walking toward him with a grin
on his face.

  “Clay Rivera,” he called out in his deep voice. “Good to see you. Been months. Where you been keeping yourself?”

  Bright Arrow tested his false story on this man who had met him many times before. If Murray believed him, others would. “I worked with Jean Truteau in the summer. I got sick and had to stay behind. I’m trying to catch up before he reaches the Arikara camps. No work, no pay. When it gets cold, I’ll go back to trapping. What are you doing up this way?” he questioned genially.

  “I hired on to the Lewis and Clark expedition. I hunt for ‘em and stand guard. You should forget about ole Truttie and join up with us,” Murray encouraged. “They pay good,” he added.

  “Trappers?” Bright Arrow asked.

  “Nope. They’re here for the Great White Father,” he teased mirthfully. “Supposed to map this area and make friends with the Injuns,” he stated, though not in a derogatory tone.

  Bright Arrow chuckled in the right places. “Are they?” he asked with a touch of humor, then put down his bundle to chat.

  “So far, so good. Course, they’re smart lads. Can’t deny their courage and determination. They plan to ride the Missouri River all the way to the ocean. I guess you heard America bought this territory from the French,” Murray added.

  “How can they buy or sell what is not theirs? This land is owned by the Sioux. Sounds like trouble to me,” Bright Arrow observed, inwardly burning with rage.

  “I don’t think so,” Murray ventured. “Lewis and Clark ain’t here to fight or make trouble. They just want to draw maps, see new things, and find a water path to the ocean. They been collecting animals and plants they don’t have in their territory. They been sending them back to the Great White Father. They got papers full of notes about ever’thing. I heard ‘em say they wanted to learn all about the Indians hereabouts. They take this peace mission serious. You ain’t worried about them causing trouble for your Crow friends and family?”

  “I have nothing to do with the Crow; they’re always stirring up trouble. I chose the white man’s world. You say they mark papers about this land and people? It’s a big land, a big chore.”

  Murray seemed eager to talk about his work. “They got lots of notebooks filled with pictures and words. Each one carries a pouch with him all the time to take notes. They got a map showing all the camps and how many Indians live in each. That map shows the rivers and mountains and plains and prairies. Lots of work if you ask me.”

  “Will they use such a map to make war on the Indians?”

  “Nope. It’s for settlers and-traders and such. America owns this land now and she wants to see what’s here,” he declared with a laugh.

  “How many men do you hunt for?” Bright Arrow inquired calmly.

  “Around forty-five or fifty. Course most are soldiers. They got one black man with ‘em, and one dog. The black’s Clark’s man, and the dog—Scammon or Scannon—belongs to Lewis. Ole Drouillard’s traveling with ‘em as a hunter and interpreter. They’s real strict men, Clay. I heard they whipped two men for trying to run away.”

  “They are cruel men?” he questioned.

  Murray shook his head. “Nope. They just don’t allow no man to desert. Why them Rikaras cried like babies when they saw a man whipped. They told Clark and Lewis he should kill ‘em, not lash ‘em. They run a camp just like being in the army. They got lots of power, Clay. They can make peace or war for the whites. They’s trying to take some of the chiefs back to Washington to visit with the President. I think they’re crazy, but some’s going. They won’t know how to act or live in a big city. Probably scare off their breech clouts. Course they won’t be in no danger, except of being teased and gawked at.”

  “Why did you join them?” Bright Arrow probed.

  “The money first, then for the fun of it,” Murray stated, chuckling. “It’s been mighty exciting, Clay. Why don’t you join up? They got some men can’t find their ass from a hole in the ground. They get lost when they go to piss! Ole Drewyer and Shannon was lost for weeks in them woods. We sent Colter and two others after him. I’m surprised any of ‘em got out alive. You shoulda seen them down at Spirit Mound; you’d think they believed all that Injun malarky about evil spirits and devils living there.” He chuckled again.

  “How long have you traveled with them?” Bright Arrow pressed.

  “About five weeks. Them Yanktons asked ‘em to send more traders with bullets and guns. They been meeting with councils and smoking peace pipes in every camp. Course some of them Injuns didn’t take to ‘em. A few times I thought there’d be fighting and killing. Had me plenty worried in The Partizan’s camp. You been in this area since birth. I bet you know some of them Injun tongues and signs. They can use a man like you, Clay.”

  “I promised Truteau I would join him upriver. But I ain’t much of a trader. You think I could earn more money with these men?” Bright Arrow asked, cleverly inspiring Murray to coax him to join the expedition.

  “Yep. When I tell Clark and Lewis you can hunt, guide, and talk Injun, they’ll hire you quicker’an a fly lands on flops,” he vowed. “Clark’s a happy-go-lucky feller. Helcnows lots about woods and Injuns. That Lewis is a strange man. Kind of moody and quiet. Course he knows more’an a medicine chief about plants and healing. He’s the one who collects all them plants and roots and leaves. Sticks ‘em right in a book and writes about ‘em. Clark’s the one who catches the animals and draws pictures about ‘em. Come on, I’ll get you hired.”

  The two men walked over to where several white men were giving out presents. They were passing out ribbons, mirrors, bells, beads, rings, and kettles to the women. To the men they gave tobacco, calico shirts, tomahawks, and knives. They gifted the chiefs with medals, flags, and whiskey. Sergeants Ordway and Pryor handled the gift-giving ceremony. George Drouillard observed the scene with amusement and interest, and McNeal and Fields stood by for protection.

  As the action took place, Bright Arrow furtively watched and studied the two white leaders. Both men were in their thirties. The one called Clark had dark red hair. Both captains wore swords and knives and carried long rifles. Their shoulder pouches held shot, powder, and ball. Around each of their necks was a strap holding a leather satchel that contained papers and maps.

  Bright Arrow observed the men more closely. Both had very pale skin and flushed cheeks. They had large noses and serious expressions. Both men keenly observed their surroundings with hunter’s looks in their eyes, looks indicating cunning and intelligence. They were also dressed similarly. One had a cocked hat, a dark tricorn, and the other, a fur and felt hat. They wore leather knee boots and snug breeches, and each carried several weapons. Each wore a hunting shirt or smock called a “wamus.” The wamus was made like a tunic, to be slipped over the head and laced down the front with rawhide thongs. Its close-fitting sleeves and wide cape were fringed, as was the tail; the fringe allowed the rain to drip off and was also used for thongs. These smocks were sometimes trimmed in fur, but those of Lewis and Clark were made of light, warm buckskin, resistant to wind and water.

  As Bright Arrow watched and listened, he could not help but be impressed by these two white explorers. Their voices rang with the same honesty that gleamed in their eyes. He had not expected such discoveries or feelings, and he decided he would hold his judgment on these men and their mission until later. If they posed no danger to his lands and people, he could end his mission quickly. If they posed no threats, they would be of no help in earning him the coups needed to regain his former position among his people. Yet the time and effort would not be wasted. Each day his body and skills responded to his demands on them. When it was time to return home, he would go back a better man. Home! He wondered what was happening far away from this camp…

  Rebecca gaped at the copper-skinned male who spoke to her in Oglala Sioux. As she had pleaded and demanded of him, he did not come any nearer. Instead, he had severed a large hunk of meat from his fresh kill and was offering it to her! Her fears turned to surpr
ise and confusion.

  “You Bright Arrow woman? Bright Arrow Oglala?” he inquired in broken English to test his understanding of her words and identity.

  She pushed herself to a half-sitting position on the edge of the fallen tree. “Sha,” she responded affirmatively. Pointing to her chest and tapping it lightly, she said, “Rebecca Kenny, Wanhinkpe Wiyakpa winyan,” calling herself Bright Arrow’s woman. “Ni-ye Oglala?”

  “Sha, Oglala. You speak good Oglala tongue,” he informed her, then smiled genially. “What death, sickness attack Cheyenne camp? Why you hunt? You weak. You sick?” he questioned.

  Because she had forgotten many Oglala words, she spoke in broken English to help him understand. “White trader come. He bad sick. He die. I tell Chief Yellow Robe, burn body, burn possessions. They carry bad sickness. Cheyenne who touch trader and possessions get same sickness; many die. He no listen. He laugh, call Rebecca bad names. Sickness come. Many Cheyenne sick; some die. More will die. Chief sick. Children of Bright Arrow and Windrider sick,” she told him, holding up four fingers. “We move Windrider tepee away from camp. Tansia find trader’s beads. Beads have sickness. Windrider and Bright Arrow gone away many days; many suns before return. Camp say Rebecca and white captive bring sickness and death; many angry. They wrong. Rebecca hunt for Windrider tepee; protect it.”

  Rebecca inhaled deeply, for she had been speaking swiftly and breathlessly. “No go Cheyenne camp. All who sick or dead give sickness to others who touch them or their belongings. Must burn bodies and possessions to stop sickness. I no sick; Rebecca tired, afraid. No touch Rebecca; she near sick. Might carry sickness. White captive take children to lean-to; she tend them. We stay away. She white medicine chief’s girl. She know much healing; Cheyenne no listen and believe. You go home; you and Oglalas be safe.”