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Savage Illusions

Page 12

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"Let me ma­ke in­t­ro­duc­ti­ons," Ralph sa­id, step­ping in front of Jole­na, mo­men­ta­rily bloc­king her vi­ew of the In­di­an, then mo­ving to the In­di­an's si­de, pla­cing a fond arm aro­und his sho­ul­ders. "This, my fri­ends, is one of the most skil­led gu­ides of the re­gi­on. You are in the pro­ud com­pany of Spot­ted Eag­le, who­se fat­her is Chi­ef Gray Be­ar. His com­pa­ni­on is Two Rid­ges, the son of Brown Elk. They will gu­ide you thro­ugh the wil­der­ness and al­so pro­tect you from the ma­ra­uding Cree."

Ralph tur­ned to Spot­ted Eag­le and Two Rid­ges. "My spe­ci­al fri­ends, my I in­t­ro­du­ce you to Jole­na and Kirk Ed­monds, who ma­ke the­ir re­si­den­ce in Sa­int Lo­u­is, Mis­so­uri," he sa­id, ges­tu­ring to­ward Jole­na and Kirk. "They are on a mis­si­on of the he­art," he ex­p­la­ined. "They ha­ve co­me to se­arch for and find the elu­si­ve but­terfly that you, Spot­ted Eag­le, ha­ve spot­ted. They wish to ta­ke the­ir know­led­ge of it and spe­ci­mens back to the­ir ailing fat­her."

Spotted Eag­le had not ta­ken his eyes off Jole­na, un­ner­ving her. It was as tho­ugh he was lo­oking de­eply wit­hin her so­ul, per­haps trying to pull from wit­hin her the an­s­wers to the qu­es­ti­ons that his eyes we­re as­king.

She had to won­der why. Did she re­sem­b­le so­me­one he knew?

Or was it be­ca­use he was in­s­tantly at­trac­ted to her, as she was to him?

If he only knew that she had met him be­fo­re, in her mid­night dre­ams, then he wo­uld ha­ve ca­use to sta­re at her!

She co­uld not wrench her own eyes away, ha­ving lo­ved him be­fo­re ever ha­ving met him fa­ce to fa­ce!

This was con­fu­sing to her, the­se fe­elings for a man who was, in tr

uth, a com­p­le­te stran­ger to her.

And he was not just any man. He was an In­di­an.

In Sa­int Lo­u­is she had se­en few In­di­ans. They had mostly kept to the ri­ver­f­ront, whe­re they tra­ded with pe­op­le of the city. She had ne­ver ven­tu­red the­re her­self, her fat­her ha­ving for­bid­den it.

"You co­me to this land for yo­ur fat­her's be­ne­fit?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, fi­nal­ly bre­aking the si­len­ce bet­we­en them, which had be­gun to be stra­ined. "His na­me is?"

"Bryce," Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice slight and fil­led with awe. "Bryce Ed­monds."

"He is In­di­an in co­lo­ring?" Spot­ted Eag­le co­uld not help but ask. "He is In­di­an, yet has ta­ken on a whi­te man's na­me, the sa­me as you?"

Kirk's eyes wi­de­ned and he swal­lo­wed hard, not li­king whe­re this con­ver­sa­ti­on was le­ading. " Our fat­her is qu­ite whi­te, thank you," he sa­id stiffly. He pla­ced a hand to Jole­na's el­bow and whis­ked her away, wal­king her briskly away from the qu­es­ti­ons and in­t­ro­duc­ti­ons.

"That damn In­di­an is as­king too many qu­es­ti­ons," Kirk grow­led. "He's be­en hi­red to le­ad, not to in­ter­fe­re in our pri­va­te li­ves."

Jolena tug­ged at Kirk's hand, trying to get free. "Let me go, Kirk," she sa­id, an­ger brim­ming in her eyes as she gla­red at him. "What you did was most im­po­li­te. He was just ma­king con­ver­sa­ti­on."

"He saw yo­ur skin co­lo­ring," Kirk grum­b­led, flas­hing an angry lo­ok back at her. "And it wasn't just po­li­te con­ver­sa­ti­on that ca­used him to say what he did. Jole­na, you are In­di­an, thro­ugh and thro­ugh. He saw it. He wants to ma­ke it his bu­si­ness to know why, and I won't al­low it."

Jolena ce­ased strug­gling with her brot­her, kno­wing that al­t­ho­ugh she was the mo­re wil­lful of the two, he was the stron­ger.

Throwing a glan­ce over her sho­ul­der, she ga­zed at Spot­ted Eag­let­his In­di­an who­se na­me, as well as his han­d­so­me­ness, in­t­ri­gu­ed her.

She did not know how, but Spot­ted Eag­le was one and the sa­me as the In­di­an in her dre­ams! She did not see how that co­uld be so, yet it was. No one co­uld say that all In­di­ans lo­oked ali­ke, for the slig­h­ter In­di­an com­pa­ni­on of Spot­ted Eag­le's lo­oked not­hing li­ke the man in her dre­am. In her eyes, he was not han­d­so­me at all.

He, too, had lo­oked at her stran­gely, but she had de­fi­ned this as an in­te­rest in her. She knew lust in the eyes of a man when she saw it, and this man lus­ted af­ter her. He se­emed re­ady even at this mo­ment to throw her to the gro­und and co­ver her with his body. He frig­h­te­ned her, and she knew to ke­ep an eye on him, es­pe­ci­al­ly if she was left alo­ne for any length of ti­me with him.

"Kirk," Jole­na blur­ted, fi­nal­ly yan­king her­self out of her brot­her's grip. "I ho­pe that to­day isn't a sam­p­le of how gu­ar­ded you are go­ing to be of my every mo­ve and new ac­qu­a­in­tan­ce. You ma­de me lo­ok hel­p­less in front of ever­yo­ne. You know bet­ter than that, so ple­ase think be­fo­re you act next ti­me."

"It do­esn't ta­ke much thin­king to know when you ne­ed yo­ur brot­her to lo­ok af­ter yo­ur wel­fa­re, es­pe­ci­al­ly when an In­di­an war­ri­or is be­co­ming too in­qu­isi­ti­ve abo­ut you," Kirk sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a frown. "I pro­mi­sed fat­her I wo­uld…"

His words bro­ke off as a gu­ar­ded lo­ok ca­me in­to his eyes, then he lo­oked away from Jole­na, si­lent.

"You pro­mi­sed fat­her you wo­uld ke­ep me from fin­ding out abo­ut my he­ri­ta­ge, didn't you?" she snap­ped back. "Is he… are you… so thre­ate­ned by the truth that you will do an­y­t­hing to ke­ep me from even tal­king to an In­di­an? Kirk, that won't work and you know it. If I want to talk, for in­s­tan­ce, to Spot­ted Eag­le, I will, and I will not al­low you to hu­mi­li­ate me, nor him, ever aga­in."

"Didn't you see the way he was lo­oking at you, sis?" Kirk sa­id ur­gently. "He was lo­oking at you as tho­ugh he wan­ted to pos­sess you, or per­haps al­re­ady did. And I saw the way you we­re lo­oking at him. Damn it, sis, don't get in­fa­tu­ated with an In­di­an just be­ca­use yo­ur skin is the sa­me co­lor as his. II don't want you de­ci­ding to stay be­hind when it is ti­me to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is."

Knowing that Kirk's wor­ri­es we­re well-fo­un­ded, and that even she saw the dan­gers in al­lo­wing her fe­elings for Spot­ted Eag­le to grow, Jole­na did not of­fer him a res­pon­se. In truth, she did not know what to say. She co­uld not deny even to her brot­her that she was in­t­ri­gu­ed by the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or, for she was not skil­led in tel­ling li­es.

Instead, she es­ca­ped fur­t­her con­ver­sa­ti­on with him by ga­zing aro­und her, ta­king in the sce­ne aro­und them. The si­te of the fort had be­en well se­lec­ted, on a be­a­uti­ful pra­irie on the banks ne­ar the jun­c­ti­on of the Mis­so­uri and Yel­low­s­to­ne ri­vers. Jole­na's fat­her had told her that sin­ce this was the prin­ci­pal he­ad­qu­ar­ters of the fur com­pa­ni­es of this re­gi­on, a vast stock of go­ods was kept on hand. At cer­ta­in ti­mes of the ye­ar, the nu­me­ro­us tra­ders from the dis­tant out­posts con­cen­t­ra­ted he­re with the pro­fits from the­ir se­ason's tra­de and out­fit­ted them­sel­ves with a fresh supply of go­ods to tra­de with the In­di­ans. This post was al­so the ge­ne­ral ren­dez­vo­us of a gre­at num­ber of In­di­an tri­bes, who we­re con­ti­nu­al­ly con­cen­t­ra­ting the­re for the pur­po­se of tra­de.

It ap­pe­ared that tho­se who li­ved wit­hin the walls of the fort li­ved in a com­for­tab­le style. Jole­na co­uld co­unt so­me eight or ten log ho­uses and sto­res and knew that forty or fifty sol­di­ers we­re sta­ti­oned the­re. She was ama­zed at the num­ber of hor­ses in the cor­ral at the far end of the co­ur­t­yard, not far from the long row of bar­racks. The­re had to be at le­ast one hun­d­red hor­ses in­si­de the fen­ce!



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