Savage Illusions

At this mo­ment in his li­fe, he felt bles­sed, for of la­te ever­y­t­hing go­od had be­en hap­pe­ning for him and the Blac­k­fo­ot of his vil­la­ge.

The only thing that wor­ri­ed him was his fat­her's fa­iling he­alth. He was suf­fe­ring a slow des­cent in­to a stran­ge, de­bi­li­ta­ting il­lness which wo­uld qu­ickly ta­ke from him the abi­lity to think or re­mem­ber whe­re he was or who he was.

These epi­so­des had be­gun to be mo­re fre­qu­ent, gi­ving his fat­her ca­use to tell Spot­ted Eag­le that so­on he wo­uld be chi­ef in­s­te­ad of Chi­ef Gray Be­ar. Spot­ted Eag­le was sad­de­ned over his fat­her's ne­ed to gi­ve up his tit­le of chi­ef be­ca­use of the re­ason it was go­ing to ha­ve to be do­ne, yet he knew that it wo­uld be ne­ces­sary if his fat­her's mind ce­ased to fun­c­ti­on as a le­ader's mind must.

Spotted Eag­le was re­ady to le­ad his pe­op­le.

He had be­en an as­tu­te stu­dent of his fat­her's te­ac­hings!

Something spar­k­ling be­ne­ath the be­ating rays of the sun in his path drew Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes. He smi­led bro­adly when he re­cog­ni­zed what the obj­ect was. It was an I-nis-ki­ma buf­fa­lo sto­ne. This was the Blac­k­fo­ot's stron­gest me­di­ci­ne. It ga­ve its pos­ses­sor gre­at po­wer with the buf­fa­lo. One who fo­und the sto­ne was re­gar­ded as very for­tu­na­te.

''Twice in one day I ha­ve re­ce­ived go­od signs," he whis­pe­red to him­self, stop­ping to bend and pluck the buf­fa­lo sto­ne from the rocky ter­ra­in.

Smiling, cir­c­ling the sto­ne in one of his hands, Spot­ted Eag­le con­ti­nu­ed on his way, then stop­ped and ga­zed gu­ar­dedly at an ap­pro­ac­hing hor­se­man. When he re­cog­ni­zed the man in the In­di­an sad­dle as Whi­te Mo­le, a war­ri­or of Spot­ted Eag­le's ne­ig­h­bo­ring vil­la­ge of Blac­k­fo­ot, he re­la­xed his sho­ul­ders and awa­ited his ar­ri­val.

White Mo­le drew tight re­in be­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le. He ga­ve Two Rid­ges, who sat on his hor­se only a few fe­et back from Spot­ted Eag­le, a qu­ick, kno­wing glan­ce.

"What brings you he­re?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, dra­wing Whi­te Mo­le's full at­ten­ti­on to him. "Do you wish to jo­in the ex­pe­di­ti­on? If so, you are wel­co­me."

"No," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id. "I ha­ve co­me for ot­her re­asons."

"Tell me then the true re­ason," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, stif­fe­ning as Whi­te Mo­le did not of­fer a smi­le, only frow­ning as if his news was an­y­t­hing but go­od.

"It is yo­ur fat­her," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, not me­eting Spot­ted Eag­le's ga­ze. "He is ailing. He has as­ked for you. He wis­hes you to co­me to him qu­ickly."

"Father?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, fe­ar ri­sing in­si­

de him that per­haps his fat­her was mo­re ill than he had tho­ught. "How do you know this?"

"While jo­ur­ne­ying to­ward Fort Chan­ce, I ca­me upon a war­ri­or from yo­ur vil­la­ge," Whi­te Mo­le sa­id, the lie slip­ping easily ac­ross his lips sin­ce it was be­ing pa­id for with two hor­ses. "This war­ri­or who­se na­me I do not know as­ked if I wo­uld bring the mes­sa­ge to you. I saw that he was eager to re­turn to yo­ur vil­la­ge, so I sa­id that I wo­uld do this de­ed for you, as a fri­endly ges­tu­re from my vil­la­ge to yo­urs."

"That is most kind," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, re­ac­hing a hand to Whi­te Mo­le and tightly clas­ping his hand as it was ex­ten­ded to him. "So­me­how I will re­turn the fa­vor."

White Mo­le smi­led smugly, slip­ped his hand from Spot­ted Eag­le's, ga­ve Two Rid­ges anot­her qu­ick glan­ce, then whe­eled his hor­se aro­und and ro­de qu­ickly away.

Spotted Eag­le was torn, not wan­ting to le­ave Jole­na's sa­fety in the hands of an­yo­ne but him­self, yet kno­wing that his first lo­yal­ti­es we­re to his fat­her. He slowly ope­ned his fin­gers and sta­red down at the buf­fa­lo rock, ha­ving only mo­ments ago felt that much luck was his to­day, es­pe­ci­al­ly af­ter ha­ving al­so se­en the fox.

Two Rid­ges ro­de up and dis­mo­un­ted. He pla­ced a hand on Spot­ted Eag­le's sho­ul­der. "What news did Whi­te Mo­le bring?" he sa­id, pre­ten­ding con­cern. "It is in yo­ur eyes that so­met­hing has pa­ined you."

" Ni- nah-ah, my fat­her," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his jaw tight. "I must go to my fat­her. You are now in char­ge. Ke­ep a sharp eye out for the Cree or any ot­her re­ne­ga­des that might be stal­king the ex­pe­di­ti­on."

"It is do­ne, my fri­end," Two Rid­ges sa­id, drop­ping his hand down to his si­de. His in­si­des glo­wed warm with glee as he wat­c­hed Spot­ted Eag­le glan­ce at the cop­per prin­cess, not re­ali­zing that when he re­tur­ned, she wo­uld no lon­ger be­long to him!

His ploy was wor­king, Two Rid­ges glo­ated to him­self. To­night he wo­uld fi­nal­ly ha­ve his lusts sa­tis­fi­ed be­ne­ath the mo­on­light, as Spot­ted Eag­le had the pre­vi­o­us night. Just thin­king how soft her skin must fe­el all over was set­ting small fi­res in­si­de Two Rid­ges' lo­ins.

Spotted Eag­le's eyes lin­ge­red on Jole­na, then he tur­ned his eyes back to the rock. Wit­ho­ut fur­t­her tho­ught, he went with pro­ud sho­ul­ders to Jole­na.

"I did not he­ar what the war­ri­or sa­id to you, but the news se­ems to ha­ve dis­tur­bed you," Jole­na sa­id, be­fo­re he had a chan­ce to say an­y­t­hing to her. "What is it? What's hap­pe­ned?"

She had wat­c­hed with in­ten­se in­te­rest as the stran­ge war­ri­or re­la­yed a mes­sa­ge to Spot­ted Eag­le that had sent qu­ick alarm and con­cern in­to his dark eyes.

"I must le­ave you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. He pa­used and lo­oked at Kirk, his spi­ne stif­fe­ning when he saw that that bit of news ma­de Kirk smi­le. It to­ok every bit of Spot­ted Eag­le's will po­wer not to lash out at the brot­her of his wo­man and tell him that he co­uld fe­el as smug as he wan­ted now, but Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld re­turn. He wo­uld ne­ver al­low him­self to stay far from his wo­man­not af­ter wa­iting a li­fe­ti­me for her!

Jolena was jar­red by the news. "You must le­ave?" she gas­ped, her eyes wi­de­ning. "But why? Whe­re are you go­ing?"

"My fat­her is ailing," Spot­ted Eag­le ex­p­la­ined. "He bec­kons me to his bed­si­de. This de­vo­ted son res­ponds qu­ickly to his re­qu­est. I le­ave now, but as so­on as I see that ever­y­t­hing is be­ing do­ne for my fat­her, al­lo­wing me to le­ave him aga­in, I shall re­turn and be yo­ur hum­b­le gu­ide."

"Two Rid­ges will do just fi­ne in that ca­pa­city," Kirk qu­ickly in­te­rj­ec­ted. "So don't worry abo­ut how long you are go­ne. In fact, Spot­ted Eag­le, I'm su­re we'll get along just fi­ne wit­ho­ut you. I ha­ven't se­en any signs of the Cree." He frow­ned. "Nor of but­ter­f­li­es. I'm be­gin­ning to won­der if you in­ven­ted the story, per­haps to win ap­pro­val from Ralph McMil­len when you re­por­ted it." Jole­na's he­art skip­ped a be­at, and she sta­red wi­de-eyed at her brot­her, who had just in­sul­ted Spot­ted Eag­le. This wasn't li­ke her Kirk. In Sa­int Lo­u­is, he had be­en a kind and gen­t­le yo­ung man who ne­ver ma­de an enemy.