The wo­men we­re dres­sed in the­ir best dres­ses, the men in the­ir best frin­ged gar­ments.

As the sun ro­se hig­her in the sky, the pe­op­le ca­me to­get­her for a dan­ce be­si­de the lar­ge out­do­or com­mu­nal fi­re. The men sto­od on one si­de, the wo­men on the ot­her. They all sang, and three drum­mers fur­nis­hed an ac­com­pa­ni­ment. The pe­op­le jo­ined to­get­her in the dan­ce, the wo­men hol­ding the­ir arms and hands in va­ri­o­us gra­ce­ful po­si­ti­ons.

The pe­op­le then step­ped asi­de, si­lent, as a gro­up of men ca­me to the cen­ter of at­ten­ti­on. They wo­re ani­mal-he­ad masks, and the­ir bo­di­es we­re brightly pa­in­ted. When the­ir dan­ce was over, the pe­op­le gat­he­red to­get­her and sat on blan­kets aro­und the lar­ge fi­re to lis­ten to the sto­ri­es of an el­derly war­ri­or who had se­en his best days. His ta­les we­re the ex­p­la­na­ti­ons of the phe­no­me­na of li­fe and con­ta­ined many a mo­ral for the in­s­t­ruc­ti­on of yo­uth.

The stor­y­tel­ler spo­ke in so much ear­nest, and be­ca­me so en­ti­rely car­ri­ed away by the ta­le he was re­la­ting, that he fa­irly trem­b­led with ex­ci­te­ment. He held his audi­en­ce spel­lbo­und with yet mo­re ta­les abo­ut the an­ci­ent gods and the­ir mi­ra­cu­lo­us do­ings.

And then it was ti­me for mo­re ga­mes!

Jolena la­ug­hed softly as she fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le to a gro­up of war­ri­ors. She co­uld see his eager­ness to chal­len­ge tho­se of his sa­me age. He pul­led her asi­de as the ot­hers gat­he­red in a cir­c­le, pre­pa­ring them­sel­ves for the ga­me, la­ug­hing amongst them­sel­ves.

"Watch as yo­ur man plays a ga­me cal­led hands," he sa­id, smi­ling at her. "Let me warn you, my wo­man. The sta­kes are so­me­ti­mes very hig­h­t­wo or three hor­ses, or mo­re. So­me ha­ve be­en known to lo­se ever­y­t­hing they pos­ses­sed, even to the­ir clot­hing."

Jolena wat­c­hed as Spot­ted Eag­le step­ped away from her to jo­in the gro­up of a do­zen men. The war­ri­ors we­re di­vi­ded in­to two equ­al par­ti­es, one gro­up stan­ding fa­cing the ot­her. Ot­her­s­wo­men, chil­d­ren, and ol­der men­p­res­sed in be­

hind Jole­na to watch as the bet­ting be­gan, each per­son pla­ying the ga­me bet­ting with the per­son di­rectly op­po­si­te him. The­re we­re wa­gers for hor­ses, moc­ca­sins, he­ad­bands, ar­rows, and pri­zed bows.

Jolena lis­te­ned for Spot­ted Eag­le's wa­ger, smi­ling when he ma­de a sim­p­le of­fe­ring of an eag­le fe­at­her for so­me­one's he­ad­band sho­uld he lo­se.

Two small, ob­long bo­nes we­re used, one of which had a black ring aro­und it. The first man to­ok the bo­nes, and by skil­lful­ly mo­ving his hands and chan­ging the obj­ects from one to the ot­her, so­ught to ma­ke it im­pos­sib­le for the per­son op­po­si­te him to de­ci­de which hand held the mar­ked bo­ne.

Jolena's eyes wi­de­ned, now re­cog­ni­zing the ga­me as "But­ton, but­ton, who's got the but­ton?" which she had pla­yed with her fri­ends in Sa­int Lo­u­is. Now truly enj­oying wat­c­hing, ha­ving her­self pla­yed this sa­me ga­me so of­ten, Jole­na wat­c­hed the pla­yers' hands and lis­te­ned to the va­ri­o­us bets. Ten po­ints, co­un­ted by sticks, won the ga­me and the si­de which first got the num­ber to­ok the sta­kes.

A song was so­on ac­com­pan­ying this ga­me, a we­ird, une­arthy tu­ne sung by an old war­ri­or. At first, it was a scar­cely audib­le mur­mur, li­ke the gen­t­le so­ug­hing of an eve­ning bre­eze, but gra­du­al­ly it in­c­re­ased in vo­lu­me and re­ac­hed a very high pitch, sin­king qu­ickly to a low bass so­und which ro­se and fell, then gra­du­al­ly di­ed, to be aga­in re­pe­ated.

One of the war­ri­ors who was con­ce­aling the bo­nes swa­yed his body, arms, and hands in ti­me to the mu­sic and went thro­ugh all man­ner of gra­ce­ful and in­t­ri­ca­te mo­ve­ments for the pur­po­se of con­fu­sing the gu­es­sers.

This went on for so­me ti­me.

Jolena was pro­ud when Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me away with many pri­zes, the most pre­ci­o­us of them all a bra­ce­let ma­de of pink, iri­des­cent shells, which he promptly slip­ped on­to Jole­na's right arm.

They we­re la­ug­hing and fol­lo­wing the ple­asant aro­ma of fo­od ro­as­ting clo­se by over anot­her lar­ge, out­do­or fi­re, when Kirk ca­me sud­denly in­to vi­ew. Glo­we­ring, he ca­me to Jole­na and to­ok her by an arm, us­he­ring her away from Spot­ted Eag­le.

Stopping in the sha­dow of a te­pee, Kirk tur­ned Jole­na to fa­ce him. "Sis, I'm strong eno­ugh to tra­vel," he sa­id. "If I ha­ve to beg you to go with me, I will."

"Please don't," Jole­na sa­id, cas­ting her eyes dow­n­ward. "My mind is ma­de up, Kirk. I ho­pe you will un­der­s­tand one day why I had to ma­ke the cho­ice that I did."

"Your lo­ve for Spot­ted Eag­le?" he sa­id, pla­cing a fin­ger to her chin and tip­ping it up so that the­ir eyes co­uld me­et and hold.

"That, and al­so my lo­ve for my pe­op­le," Jole­na sa­id, over Kirk's sho­ul­der se­e­ing Spot­ted Eag­le co­ming to­ward them.

"I can un­der­s­tand how you co­uld be­co­me in­fa­tu­ated with a han­d­so­me war­ri­or," Kirk sa­id, drop­ping his hands to his si­des. "I, too, am in­fa­tu­ated with an In­di­an. I co­uld easily lo­ve Mo­on Flo­wer­but not if it me­ant for­get­ting all of my lo­yal­ti­es to the fa­mily who ra­ised me from a baby to adul­t­ho­od."

"Then lo­ve Mo­on Flo­wer and le­ave me alo­ne," Jole­na sa­id, sig­hing he­avily. "I shall ne­ver chan­ge my mind. Ne­ver."

Kirk frow­ned. "I knew that you wo­uldn't," he sa­id, gi­ving Spot­ted Eag­le a tro­ub­led glan­ce over his sho­ul­der as he ca­me pro­tec­ti­vely to Jole­na's si­de.

Then he ga­ve Mo­on Flo­wer a nod, brin­ging her to his si­de. When she ca­me to him, bas­h­ful­ly smi­ling, he pla­ced an arm aro­und her wa­ist. "Mo­on Flo­wer is tra­ve­ling with me to Sa­int Lo­u­is," he sa­id, his eyes lig­h­ting up, his lips qu­ave­ring in­to a smi­le. "She's pro­mi­sed to marry me." Jole­na's he­art se­emed to stop, and she felt a col­d­ness en­ter her he­art as she ga­zed in­to Mo­on Flo­wer's eyes, stun­ned at her brot­her's qu­ick de­ci­si­on.

Jolena knew why Mo­on Flo­wer might be eager to le­ave her vil­la­ge­to hi­de the sha­me of an un­wed preg­nancy?

But did Kirk know abo­ut the preg­nancy?

Jolena knew that he must not know, for he was not the sort to to­le­ra­te a wi­fe he­avy with anot­her man's child, es­pe­ci­al­ly an In­di­an's.

Nor wo­uld he be the sort to ra­ise that child!

Jolena wan­ted to re­ach out and tell her brot­her the truth, but a part of her that re­sen­ted his at­ti­tu­de to­ward her he­ri­ta­ge wo­uld not al­low her to warn him of the de­ce­it.

Tags: Cassie Edwards Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net