Savage Illusions

The In­di­an who still knelt over Kirk nod­ded, and with his free hand do­ub­led over his he­art, po­un­ded his chest over and over aga­in with it. "Cree," the In­di­an snar­led. "Cree!"

"Kirk," Kirk mur­mu­red, flas­hing his eyes from In­di­an to In­di­an, scar­cely bre­at­hing. "I am cal­led Kirk." This se­emed not to mat­ter at all to the In­di­ans. They ig­no­red him as the one In­di­an grab­bed his wrist and jer­ked him to his fe­et. Kirk lo­oked wildly from In­di­an to In­di­an as his cap­tor han­ded out or­ders to the ot­hers.

Soon Kirk's hands we­re ti­ed be­hind him and a ro­pe was pla­ced aro­und his neck. When the In­di­ans mo­un­ted the­ir hor­ses aga­in and be­gan ri­ding along in a slow lo­pe, back in the di­rec­ti­on when­ce they had just co­me, they la­ug­hed and moc­ked Kirk as they wat­c­hed him stum­b­le along be­hind the last hor­se of the gro­up. Kirk gur­g­led stran­gely when the In­di­an who had com­mand of his ro­pe ga­ve a strong tug, ca­using the ro­pe to tig­h­ten aro­und his neck.

Again the In­di­ans la­ug­hed.

After so many tugs and ne­ar blac­ko­uts, Kirk fell sen­se­less to the gro­und. He was only va­gu­ely awa­re of so­me­one po­king at his si­de with a moc­ca­si­ned toe. He was only half awa­re of be­ing lif­ted on­to the back of a hor­se. He drif­ted in and out of con­s­ci­o­us­ness as the Cree ro­de on in­to the night un­til the sky be­gan lig­h­te­ning along the ho­ri­zon.

Unable to stay awa­ke any lon­ger, Kirk drif­ted off in­to a res­t­less sle­ep. When he awa­ke­ned, he fo­und him?

?self ti­ed to a sta­ke in the cen­ter of a vil­la­ge, the obj­ect of much scru­tiny as wo­men and chil­d­ren ed­ged in clo­ser to him, to­uc­hing him and rip­ping his clot­hes from him. Af­ter he was com­p­le­tely na­ked, his pri­va­te parts be­ca­me the obj­ect of at­ten­ti­on.

Sticks pro­bed at him. Hands fon­d­led.

Fingers pin­c­hed and hurt him.

Humiliated, Kirk clo­sed his eyes and al­lo­wed his tho­ughts to wan­der el­sew­he­re, to a mo­re ple­asant ti­me, when he and Jole­na we­re chil­d­ren and pla­yed hi­de and se­ek in the gar­den at the back of the­ir Sa­int Lo­u­is man­si­on. He had known then that she was much dif­fe­rent than he, but ne­ver had he al­lo­wed her to be­co­me ac­qu­a­in­ted with ot­her In­di­ans, for most we­re lo­oked upon as sa­va­ge.

Today, he was dis­co­ve­ring just how sa­va­ge so­me of the In­di­ans co­uld be.

She wo­uld ne­ver be­long to this way of li­fe, he tho­ught.

Never!

Should she be ali­ve, and he ab­le to spe­ak his mind, he wo­uld not al­low it!

He scre­amed thro­atily and beg­ged for mercy when so­me­one pla­ced the sharp tip of a kni­fe at his thro­at…

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jolena awa­ke­ned with a start and ga­zed up at the smo­ke ho­le. She crin­ged when she dis­co­ve­red that it was mor­ning and dre­aded what was ex­pec­ted of her. It was her duty as the sis­ter of Two Rid­ges to pre­pa­re him for bu­ri­al!

Shuddering at the tho­ught of not only ha­ving to lo­ok down at his cor­p­se, but al­so ha­ving to to­uch him, Jole­na knew that, of all of the Blac­k­fo­ot cus­toms that she knew she must le­arn, su­rely this wo­uld be the har­dest for her to be­ar… or ac­cept.

She clo­sed her eyes and snug­gled aga­inst Spot­ted Eag­le's back, fin­ding so­la­ce with him for just a short whi­le lon­ger. Thro­ugh the night her dre­ams had be­en most un­p­le­asant! In one of her dre­ams, as she had be­en pre­pa­ring Two Rid­ges' body for bu­ri­al, his eyes had sud­denly ope­ned. His hands had grip­ped her sho­ul­ders tightly and had ma­de her tra­de pla­ces with him on his bed of thick, han­d­so­me be­ar pelts. In her dre­am, Two Rid­ges was pre­pa­ring her for bu­ri­al! Her thro­at had be­en as tho­ugh fro­zen, and she was unab­le to cry out as Two Rid­ges strip­ped her of her clot­hing and had then be­gan spre­ading black pa­int all over her body. The to­uch of the pa­int had bur­ned her, as tho­ugh it we­re acid.

She had awa­ke­ned in a cold swe­at, fe­aring any dre­am that was not ple­asant. Too of­ten her dre­ams had be­en an omen of so­met­hing that had truly hap­pe­ned. She had dre­amed of Spot­ted Eag­le's de­ath by a de­adly ar­row, and it wo­uld ha­ve co­me to pass had not Two Rid­ges be­en sud­denly the­re in the path of the ar­row!

She tre­mo­red at the tho­ught of what this most re­cent dre­am might me­an…

"Jolena?"

A tiny wo­man's vo­ice spe­aking her na­me out­si­de the lod­ge ca­used Jole­na's tho­ughts to re­turn to the pre­sent, and to re­mem­ber that her ti­me had co­me to jo­in ot­hers on this day of Two Rid­ges' bu­ri­al. La­te last night, be­fo­re she had fal­len in­to her res­t­less sle­ep, Spot­ted Eag­le had told her that she wo­uld not be to­tal­ly alo­ne in pre­pa­ring Two Rid­ges' for his bu­ri­al. Mo­on Flo­wer wo­uld as­sist her.

Spotted Eag­le had al­so told Jole­na that Mo­on Flo­wer had pro­fes­sed her lo­ve for Two Rid­ges mo­re than on­ce to the­ir vil­la­ge. It was pre­su­med by ever­yo­ne that they wo­uld so­on be mar­ri­ed. Even Spot­ted Eag­le had for a whi­le be­li­eved that it might co­me to pass, un­til he had wit­nes­sed his fri­end ta­king wo­man af­ter wo­man to his blan­kets.

"Spotted Eag­le," Jole­na whis­pe­red, slightly sha­king him. "Ple­ase wa­ke up. It's ti­me for me to go with Mo­on Flo­wer."

Spotted Eag­le yaw­ned and stret­c­hed his arms abo­ve his he­ad, then tur­ned and fa­ced Jole­na. He pla­ced his hands to her sho­ul­ders and bro­ught her lips to his and kis­sed her. But when he fo­und no wil­ling res­pon­se, he eased his hands from her and lo­oked in­to her eyes.

"Spotted Eag­le, how can I be ex­pec­ted to be­ha­ve as tho­ugh I think that Mo­on Flo­wer is hel­ping me pre­pa­re Two Rid­ges for bu­ri­al be­ca­use she was his wo­man when both you and I know dif­fe­rent?" Jole­na whis­pe­red. She cast the clo­sed en­t­ran­ce flap anot­her bri­ef glan­ce when Mo­on Flo­wer per­sis­ted cal­ling Jole­na's na­me out­si­de the dwel­ling. "Su­rely Mo­on Flo­wer he­ard the ru­mors of Two Rid­ges' pro­fes­sed pro­wess."

"Moon Flo­wer he­ars what she wants to he­ar and be­li­eves what she wants to be­li­eve," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id softly. "To­day she be­li­eves she be­longs next to you whi­le pre­pa­ring Two Rid­ges' body for bu­ri­al. Al­low it. It will ma­ke the cho­re easi­er for you, will it not?"

"I will fe­el I am ta­king part in Two Rid­ges' bet­ra­yal of Mo­on Flo­wer if I do this," Jole­na sa­id.

When Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id her na­me aga­in, this ti­me so­un­ding des­pe­ra­te, Jole­na knew that she had no cho­ice but to go ahe­ad and do as Spot­ted Eag­le sug­ges­ted. She ga­ve him a lin­ge­ring, lo­ving sta­re, then left the­ir bed of blan­kets and furs and dres­sed.