Savage Illusions

Even lying to Spot­ted Eag­le, a most re­ve­red Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or!

But Two Rid­ges saw no ot­her way to get the cop­per prin­cess all to him­self. He wan­ted her badly eno­ugh to try an­y­t­hing to ha­ve her, even if, in the end, he lost Spot­ted Eag­le's fri­en­d­s­hip.

Hurrying an­xi­o­usly, he ca­me upon Whi­te Mo­le's cam­p­si­te. He em­b­ra­ced his short, squ­at fri­end, who­se eyes we­re stran­gely dis­fi­gu­red by a whi­te mo­le abo­ve each of them. "My fri­end, it is go­od to see you aga­in," Two Rid­ges sa­id, step­ping away from his fri­end. "Wo­uld you sha­re a smo­ke with yo­ur Blac­k­fo­ot ne­ig­h­bor?"

" Kyi- ok-yi, co­me. It will be go­od to sha­re my pi­pe with Two Rid­ges," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, kne­eling to re­ach in­si­de his buc­k­s­kin tra­vel bag for his long-stem­med pi­pe. Two Rid­ges sat down on Whi­te Mo­le's blan­ket as Whi­te Mo­le set­tled down be­si­de him, stam­ping In­di­an to­bac­co in­to the bowl of the pi­pe. Af­ter the pi­pe was lit by a bur­ning twig, they to­ok turns dra­wing from the stem, then la­id it asi­de and tal­ked.

"You ha­ve co­me to Whi­te Mo­le for mo­re than smo­ke?" Whi­te Mo­le as­ked.

"That is so," Two Rid­ges sa­id stiffly, his legs cros­sed, his hands on each of his kne­es.

"You tell Whi­te Mo­le why," the smal­ler In­di­an sa­id, le­aning his fa­ce clo­ser to Two Rid­ges.

"First I want to say that I will pay you two hor­ses if you do as I ask," Two Rid­ges sa­id, wat­c­hing Whi­te Mo­le's thick lips form a slow smi­le.

"Two hor­ses will be fi­ne pay­ment," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, nod­ding. "Tell me what to do. It is the sa­me as do­ne."

Two Rid­ges lo­oked over his sho­ul­der to see if Spot­ted Eag­le had no­ti­ced whe­re he had go­ne, glad to see that a row of bus­hes hid him from his fri­end's vi­ew.

He then le­aned clo­ser to Whi­te Mo­le. "I must say this qu­ickly, then re­turn to my cam­p­si­te be­fo­re my fri­end finds me with you," he sa­id softly.

White Mo­le stra­ined his neck, lo­oking aro­und the bus­hes. "You are with Spot­ted Eag­le, I see," he sa­id.

"Yes, as I usu­al­ly am," Two Rid­ges sa­id, then le­aned clo­ser aga­in to Whi­te Mo­le. "My fri­end, the­re are many whi­te pe­op­le who will be le­aving the fort in co­ve­red wa­gons to­mor­row. Fol­low them a full day and night, then go in­to the­ir camp and gi­ve this fal­se mes­sa­ge to Spot­ted Eag­let­hat anot­her bra­ve has co­me to you and told you to re­lay a mes­sa­ge to Spot­ted Eag­le that he must re­turn ho­me, that his fat­her is ailing. By the ti­me Spot­ted Eag­le dis­co­vers the de­ce­it, Two Rid­ges will ha­ve a chan­ce to draw the one cal­led Jole­na in­to lo­ving him. You will not be ac­cu­sed of the de­cep­ti­on, be­ca­use you will say a bra­ve who­se na­me is not known to you has told you."

" Hai- vah! You are de­ce­iving yo­ur fa­vo­red fri­end?" Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, his vo­ice fil­led with won­der.

"For a be­a­uti­ful wo­man, wo­uld you not do the sa­me?" Two Rid­ges sa­id, smi­ling de­vi­lishly at Whi­te Mo­le. It was im­por­tant to Two Rid­ges to ha­ve so­met­hing to ca­use envy in Spot­ted Eag­le! As he saw it, it was not fa­ir that Spot­ted Eag­le re­ce­ived so much ado­ra­ti­on from the­ir Blac­k­fo­ot pe­op­le, es­pe­ci­al­ly the el­ders, and Two Rid­ges so lit­tle. Two Rid­ges had a strong dri­ve to chan­ge that.

White Mo­le re­tur­ned the smi­le. "I will ma­ke hasty tra­de of my pelts at early sun­ri­se then wa­it hid­den for the whi­te pe­op­le to le­ave on wa­gons and will fol­low."

He pla­ced a hand on Two Rid­ges' sho­ul­der. "You pay me well with best hor­ses for such a de­ce­it?" he sa­id, his eyes dan­cing.

"The best," Two Rid­ges sa­id, nod­ding.

" Kyi. The de­ed is the sa­me as do­ne," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, chuc­k­ling. Two Rid­ges ro­se qu­ickly to his fe­et and ma­de a wi­de cir­c­le so that, sho­uld Spot­ted Eag­le turn and see his re­turn to the cam­p­si­te, he wo­uld not see whe­re he had be­en.

But Two Rid­ges fo­und qu­ickly eno­ugh that he had not­hing to fe­ar. He re­ac­hed his camp wit­ho­ut even a si­de­wi­se glan­ce from Spot­ted Eag­le. Spot­ted Eag­le was as tho­ugh in a tran­ce, his mind su­rely loc­ked on the be­a­uty of the wo­man of mystery, Two Rid­ges' cop­per prin­cess!

This ma­de Two Rid­ges even mo­re de­ter­mi­ned in his pri­va­

te pur­su­it of this wo­man that had sto­len the he­arts of two fri­ends!

Chapter Six

Comfortably full from the lar­ge me­al and fe­eling spar­k­ling cle­an from a bath, Jole­na sta­red from the win­dow of the bed­ro­om that she had be­en as­sig­ned for the night. She hug­ged her­self when a shi­ver ra­ced ac­ross her flesh, the small dot of a cam­p­fi­re aga­inst the fal­ling dusk ma­king her think of Spot­ted Eag­le. He was out the­re, ma­king camp just in­si­de the walls of the fort.

She co­uld not ma­ke him out in the dar­ke­ning shawl of eve­ning, yet knew that it must be his cam­p­fi­re she co­uld see flic­ke­ring softly in the night in the co­ur­t­yard of the fort.

Something akin to a si­lent bid­ding se­emed to be cal­ling her the­re, to dis­co­ver why the­re had be­en an in­s­tant at­trac­ti­on bet­we­en her­self and the Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or. The tho­ught of be­ing with him day and night in the co­ming we­eks ma­de the pit of her sto­mach ta­ke on a stran­ge chur­ning. To ima­gi­ne how it might be to be held by him, to be kis­sed by him, ma­de her he­art thud wildly.

And, oh, what an­s­wers might he be ab­le to tell her abo­ut her he­ri­ta­ge?

Could she be Blac­k­fo­ot?

Could her true fat­her be so­mew­he­re ne­ar for her to go to, to con­fess to him that she was his long-lost da­ug­h­ter?

Would she lo­ve him in­s­tantly as da­ug­h­ters sho­uld lo­ve fat­hers? Or wo­uld she fe­el too aw­k­ward for such a lo­ve bet­we­en her­self and a fat­her she had ne­ver known?