Savage Illusions

She blin­ked her eyes and swal­lo­wed hard. How co­uld she ha­ve pos­sibly dre­amed of this man whom she had ne­ver se­en be­fo­re?

As in her dre­am, this war­ri­or was we­aring a nec­k­la­ce of dis­tin­c­ti­on. Co­uld he be the son of a po­wer­ful chi­ef?

Jolena was stun­ned and une­asy by the way he was sta­ring at her, as tho­ugh he was se­e­ing a ghost!

Her he­ad re­eled with the fe­eling that she too was se­e­ing a ghos­ta fan­tasy that had fre­qu­en­ted her mid­night dre­ams. She was glad when Kirk stop­ped and tur­ned, dis­co­ve­ring that she was no lon­ger wal­king with him, and ca­me back to her, whis­king her away with him with just the com­mand in his eyes.

''Why we­re you lo­oking at that In­di­an li­ke that?" Kirk sa­id ac?

?cu­singly, le­aning clo­se to Jole­na so that no one el­se wo­uld he­ar. "It's pla­ying a dan­ge­ro­us ga­me, Jole­na, al­lo­wing yo­ur­self to get ca­ught up in ma­ke-be­li­eve abo­ut In­di­ans."

Jolena scar­cely he­ard what Kirk was sa­ying and scar­cely no­ti­ced that he was ac­tu­al­ly scol­ding her. "Kirk, do you know if that In­di­an is Blac­k­fo­ot?" she as­ked, aga­in gi­ving the han­d­so­me war­ri­or a lo­ok ac­ross her sho­ul­der, her he­art throb­bing aga­in when she dis­co­ve­red that he was still wat­c­hing her.

"Never you mind abo­ut that," Kirk sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "I sus­pect you'll find out so­on eno­ugh, tho­ugh. If I'm right, he's one of the In­di­an gu­ides that will be tra­ve­ling with our ex­pe­di­ti­on."

When Kirk tur­ned his eyes back to the In­di­an, Jole­na fol­lo­wed his ga­ze and then felt so­mew­hat fa­int at a new dis­co­very! This In­di­an was we­aring black moc­ca­sins! He was Blac­k­fo­ot! The man of her dre­ams! How co­uld this be? How?

When she felt anot­her set of eyes on her, Jole­na shif­ted her ga­ze and sta­red back at the slig­h­ter, yo­un­ger In­di­an who was stan­ding next to the han­d­so­me one. A shi­ver ran thro­ugh her when he con­ti­nu­ed to sta­re at her, a stran­ge sort of glint in his eyes.

"Kirk, is that ot­her In­di­an one of the gu­ides, al­so?" she as­ked, wren­c­hing her eyes aro­und.

"I'm su­re of it," Kirk sa­id, then pur­sed his lips tightly to­get­her, re­ali­zing exactly why he was ne­eded in de­fen­se of his sis­ter.

Her skin co­lo­ring. Her dark ha­ir and eyes. All of tho­se things we­re dra­wing too much at­ten­ti­on her way from the In­di­ans. They we­re su­rely se­e­ing that she was most cer­ta­inly not of the whi­te com­mu­nity, ex­cept in her dress and re­la­ti­on­s­hips.

If they knew that she was of this re­gi­on, the­re­in lay the true dan­ger!

Two Rid­ges co­uld not ke­ep his eyes from wat­c­hing Jole­na as she wal­ked hur­ri­edly to­ward the en­t­ran­ce of the fort. He had be­en qu­ickly ta­ken by her lo­ve­li­ness and knew that Spot­ted Eag­le was as ta­ken as he.

And why wo­uldn't he be?

This wo­man with the skin of an In­di­an and the clot­hes of whi­te pe­op­le was a wo­man of mystery! Two Rid­ges wo­uld know mo­re of her, so­on! For­got­ten was the yo­ung ma­iden of his vil­la­ge whom he'd be­en co­ur­ting. Mo­on Flo­wer co­uld not com­pa­re to this myste­ri­o­us be­a­uty.

Suddenly his mind was ma­de up.

He wo­uld ta­ke this wo­man as his wi­fe be­fo­re Spot­ted Eag­le had the chan­ce.

And he most de­fi­ni­tely wo­uld not let Spot­ted Eag­le know of his sud­den in­fa­tu­ati­on with the cop­per prin­cess. The dan­ger in that was that fri­ends co­uld easily be­co­me ene­mi­es over a wo­man. And Two Rid­ges me­ant to ha­ve this wo­man, no mat­ter the cost.

Chapter Five

As Kirk and Jole­na wal­ked thro­ugh the wi­de, ope­ned ga­te of the fort, a he­avy-set man with a lo­ud, thro­aty vo­ice ca­me lum­be­ring to­ward them. "Wel­co­me to Fort Chan­ce," Ralph McMil­lan sa­id as he stop­ped and ex­ten­ded a hand to­ward Kirk, than la­ug­hed and drop­ped his hand to his si­de when he re­ali­zed that Kirk was too bur­de­ned for gre­etings. "He­re. Let my clerks, Ste­ven and John, gi­ve you a hand."

"Gladly," Kirk sa­id, la­ug­hing softly as the two yo­ung men dres­sed in su­its of black fus­ti­an with brass but­tons be­gan ta­king the va­li­ses from him. "Thank you. Yo­ur as­sis­tan­ce is gre­atly ap­pre­ci­ated."

Now that Kirk's hands we­re free, Ralph McMil­lan ex­ten­ded his hand on­ce aga­in to­ward him. "One of yo­ur sci­en­ti­fic fri­ends, who ar­ri­ved at the fort from the ri­ver­bo­at be­fo­re you, po­in­ted you out as the ma­in re­ason this vo­ya­ge has be­en ma­de to Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory," he sa­id, sha­king Kirk's hand eagerly as he lo­oked from Kirk to Jole­na, then back aga­in at Kirk. "Yo­ur fat­her was he­re many ye­ars ago. I he­ard abo­ut his at­tempts to find the elu­si­ve but­terfly. You've co­me to cap­tu­re it to ta­ke back to him for his col­lec­ti­on, I as­su­me?"

"And for his me­mo­irs," Jole­na in­te­rj­ec­ted softly, her ga­ze ta­king in this short, com­pact man with bo­wed legs, who­se age ap­pe­ared to be per­haps forty. He was dres­sed well in a su­it of blue bro­ad­c­loth with brass but­tons, and his long brown ha­ir was ne­atly com­bed and han­ging down to his sho­ul­ders. She had be­en told that he was a kind-he­ar­ted and high-min­ded Scot­s­man, in char­ge of all of the fur com­pany bu­si­ness in this re­gi­on, cle­ar to the Rocky Mo­un­ta­ins.

"He is pre­sently wri­ting a bo­ok," she qu­ickly ad­ded. "I wo­uld li­ke the en­ding to say that he has the Eup­ha­ed­ra among his col­lec­ti­on. My brot­her and I ho­pe to ma­ke this pos­sib­le. Our fat­her is not well. A stran­ge sort of pa­ral­y­sis has cla­imed not only his dig­nity, but al­so the use of his legs, or he wo­uld be on this jo­ur­ney in­s­te­ad of his chil­d­ren."

Ralph drop­ped his hands to his si­des, then clas­ped them be­hind him. "That is a fi­ne thing you do for yo­ur fat­her," he sa­id, his eyes ro­aming over Jole­na, re­ali­zing that she was, in­de­ed, In­di­an in­s­te­ad of whi­te, yet, he was too po­li­te to qu­es­ti­on her or her brot­her abo­ut it.

Ralph's ga­ze was drawn to Spot­ted Eag­le and Two Rid­ges as they strol­led to­ward the wi­de ga­te of the fort, then ra­ised a hand and sho­uted at them. " Ok-yi, co­me!" he sa­id. "I will in­t­ro­du­ce you to tho­se who are in char­ge of the ex­pe­di­ti­on!"

Jolena's eyeb­rows ro­se, won­de­ring who he was ad­dres­sing, then her in­si­des trem­b­led kno­wing that it must be the han­d­so­me In­di­an, for he and his com­pa­ni­on we­re the only two In­di­ans pre­sent to­day at the fort.

Her pul­se ra­cing, her che­eks hot with an ex­ci­ted, an­xi­o­us flush, she tur­ned and fo­und her­self lo­oking squ­arely up in­to the most be­a­uti­ful eyes she had ever se­en, which qu­ickly mes­me­ri­zed her, as the han­d­so­me In­di­an stop­ped only an arm's length from her.