Savage Illusions

But it se­emed that the mi­nu­te he had lo­oked in­to Spot­ted Eag­le's mid­nig­ht-dark eyes, he had go­ne on the de­fen­si­ve, just wat­c­hing and wa­iting for Spot­ted Eag­le to say or do so­met­hing that he co­uld po­un­ce on with in­sul­ting re­marks.

She tur­ned won­de­ring eyes to Spot­ted Eag­le, fe­aring his re­ac­ti­on, yet pro­ud of him for ig­no­ring the in­sult as not­hing im­por­tant.

Yet per­haps that was not in­ten­ti­onal. The rock that he was hol­ding in his hand, and se­emingly stud­ying as he lo­oked in­ten­sely down at it, se­emed to ha­ve drawn his mind away from Kir­kand per­haps even from Jole­na.

She sta­red at the rock, se­e­ing not­hing spe­ci­al abo­ut it, ex­cept that it was sle­ek and brown and pic­ked up the rays of the sun, ref­lec­ting a soft light back at her. She was so dis­t­rac­ted by all of this that she did not even see a mo­narch but­terfly drif­ting past over­he­ad.

Suddenly Spot­ted Eag­le thrust the rock to­ward Jole­na, ca­using her to flinch with the qu­ic­k­ness of his mo­ti­on.

"Keep this for me," he sa­id, thrus­ting the buf­fa­lo sto­ne in­to her hand. "It will bring me back to you."

Curious, Jole­na won­de­red what the va­lue of the rock was. She star­ted to ask, but just as she ope­ned her mo­uth with the qu­es­ti­on, Spot­ted Eag­le was al­re­ady wal­king away from her.

In one le­ap he was in his sad­dle. He co­iled his re­ins aro­und his fin­gers and pa­used to ta­ke one last lo­ok at Jole­na, then tur­ned his eyes ahe­ad and ro­de away, stir­ring rocks and clo­uds of dust in­to the air and bloc­king Jole­na's fur­t­her vi­ew of him for a mo­ment.

Two Rid­ges wal­ked his hor­se to Jole­na's wa­gon. She was stud­ying the sto­ne aga­in, as tho­ugh mes­me­ri­zed by it. "Do you wish to know the im­por­tan­ce of such a sto­ne?" he as­ked, ig­no­ring Kirk's icy sta­re.

"Yes, ple­ase," Jole­na sa­id.

"It is cal­led I-nis-kim," Two Rid­ges sa­id softly. "It is a buf­fa­lo sto­ne. It is strong in me­di­ci­ne. It gi­ves its pos­ses­sor gre­at po­wer with buf­fa­lo. The per­son who suc­ce­eds in ob­ta­ining an I-nis-kim is re­gar­ded as very for­tu­na­te. It has be­en sa­id that so­me­ti­mes a man who is ri­ding along on the pra­irie will he­ar a pe­cu­li­ar fa­int chirp such as a lit­tle bird might ut­ter. The so­und is ma­de by a buf­fa­lo rock. He stops and se­ar­c­hes on the gro­und for the rock, and if he can­not find it, he marks the pla­ce and very li­kely re­turns next day to lo­ok aga­in. If it is fo­und, the­re is gre­at re­j­o­icing."

"It is so small to be so im­por­tant," Jole­na sa­id, tur­ning the rock from si­de to si­de as she stu­di­ed it aga­in.

"The si­ze do­es not mat­ter," Two Rid­ges sa­id, re­ac­hing over to stro­ke the rock with his fin­ger­tips. "It is sa­id that if an I-nis-kim is pla­ced in a buc­k­s­kin po­uch and left un­dis­tur­bed for a long ti­me, it will ha­ve yo­ung ones. Two small sto­nes si­mi­lar in sha­pe to the ori­gi­nal one will be fo­und in the po­uch."

Jolena smi­led at the pretty story, ca­re­ful not to lo­ok as tho­ugh she was po­king fun at the lo­vely Blac­k­fo­ot myth. "Why is it cal­led a buf­fa­lo rock?" she as­ked softly.

"The one who has fo­und the rock ta­kes it and puts it in his lod­ge clo­se to the fi­re, whe­re he can lo­ok at it and pray over it and ma­ke me­di­ci­ne," Two Rid­ges sa­id, squ­aring his sho­ul­ders pro­udly at the op­por­tu­nity to be the one to te­ach his cop?

?per prin­cess the ways of his pe­op­le. "The next day this war­ri­or will find many buf­fa­lo!"

"I must re­turn it to Spot­ted Eag­le then," Jole­na sa­id, lo­oking in­to the dis­tan­ce, no lon­ger ab­le to even see dust spra­yed up from the gro­und be­hind Spot­ted Eag­le's hor­se. "When he re­turns, I will be su­re that he has it for his next buf­fa­lo hunt."

"Isn't that eno­ugh talk of rocks and such non­sen­se as that?" Kirk sa­id sud­denly, dra­wing Jole­na's eyes qu­ickly to him. "We're he­re lo­oking for but­ter­f­li­es, not damn rocks. Two Rid­ges, you are in char­ge now. Let's get on our way."

Two Rid­ges gla­red at Kirk, then stam­ped away and qu­ickly mo­un­ted his hor­se.

Once aga­in they ma­de a slow trek over the jut­ting rocks, bre­at­hing in dust. Jole­na clung to the buf­fa­lo rock with all of her might, fe­eling as tho­ugh it was her only link now to the man she lo­ved.

Chapter Eleven

The day had be­en long for Jole­na, the ho­urs se­eming to drag by sin­ce Spot­ted Eag­le's de­par­tu­re. The sky was now in blo­om with the splash of the set­ting sun, the cam­p­fi­re crac­k­ling and pop­ping as the gre­enest of the wo­od stac­ked among the cir­c­le of rocks be­ca­me awash with fla­mes.

Jolena sat on a blan­ket clo­se to the fi­re. She was trying to jo­in in with the la­ug­hing and joking as the ot­her mem­bers of the ex­pe­di­ti­on sat aro­und sip­ping cof­fee from tin cups. But her tho­ughts kept wan­de­ring to Spot­ted Eag­le. If his fat­her's he­alth was bad eno­ugh to draw him back to his vil­la­ge, then it might be bad eno­ugh to ca­use Spot­ted Eag­le to stay the­re to lo­ok af­ter him.

Because she mis­sed Spot­ted Eag­le so much, the ex­ci­te­ment of the se­arch for the ra­re but­terfly had wa­ned.

Jolena sat her empty cup on the gro­und and drew her kne­es to her chest, en­cir­c­ling her legs with her arms. She felt stran­gely empty, and she knew that was not only be­ca­use Spot­ted Eag­le wasn't the­re. It was al­so be­ca­use she had not le­ar­ned an­y­t­hing abo­ut her he­ri­ta­ge yet. She was angry at her­self for not ha­ving co­me right out and as­ked Spot­ted Eag­le when she had be­en gi­ven the chan­ce.

Sighing he­avily, she stret­c­hed her legs out be­fo­re her and pla­ced one of her hands in­si­de her skirt poc­ket. Her fin­gers cir­c­led the buf­fa­lo rock. Brin­ging it out, she ga­zed down at it as she tur­ned it aro­und wit­hin the palm of her right hand, won­de­ring if she wo­uld ever ha­ve the chan­ce to gi­ve it back to Spot­ted Eag­le so that his next buf­fa­lo hunt wo­uld be bles­sed by the rock.

Strange, how ever­y­t­hing that had tran­s­pi­red bet­we­en them now se­emed only an il­lu­si­on… a sa­va­ge il­lu­si­on.

"Are you all right, sis?" Kirk as­ked, sco­oting clo­ser to her. "You've ba­rely sa­id a word sin­ce we ma­de camp." He glan­ced down at the rock in her hand, then mo­ved his eyes slowly up aga­in, gi­ving her an angry sta­re. "What're you do­ing with that thing? Throw it away. It's a use­less rock."

Jolena slip­ped it back in­si­de her poc­ket. "To you it's use­less," she sa­id so­me­berly, elu­ding his ste­ady sta­re. "But to the Blac­k­fo­ot, and now to me, it has much me­aning." "Li­ke what?" Kirk as­ked, sar­casm thick in his words.

"The I- nis-kim is strong me­di­ci­ne to the Blac­k­fo­ot," Two Rid­ges sa­id as he knelt down on his ha­un­c­hes on Jole­na's ot­her si­de. He ga­zed aro­und Jole­na at Kirk. "So it is not wi­se to ma­ke moc­kery of it."