"Well, I must find a way to re­medy that," Jole­na sa­id, glan­cing over her sho­ul­der as Mo­on Flo­wer ca­me wal­king back to­ward them. "So­me­how."

Her eyes brig­h­te­ned when she saw Do­ub­le Run­ner step from the crowd and of­fer Mo­on Flo­wer a tray of fo­od. When Mo­on Flo­wer smi­led up at him and ac­cep­ted the tray and sat down with him so that they co­uld eat to­get­her, Jole­na con­c­lu­ded that she did not ha­ve to worry too long abo­ut this be­a­uti­ful, slight wo­man. Even tho­ugh she was preg­nant, what man­be­si­des her brot­her Kirk, who co­uld not see past his pre­j­udi­ces­co­uld not see the worth of a wo­man such as Mo­on Flo­wer? Jole­na le­aned clo­se to Spot­ted Eag­le. "I think we ha­ve not­hing to worry abo­ut," she whis­pe­red. "Mo­on Flo­wer is too lo­vely not to ha­ve a fat­her for her child well be­fo­re it is born."

Then Jole­na la­ug­hed softly. "I will be su­re to ha­ve a dre­am that will ma­ke that pre­dic­ti­on co­me true," she sa­id, then be­gan eating the me­at with her fin­gers, con­ten­ted thro­ugh and thro­ugh.

When the ti­me ca­me for ga­mes to be pla­yed among the war­ri­ors, Do­ub­le Run­ner ca­me to Spot­ted Eag­le, his eyes gle­aming mis­c­hi­evo­usly.

"My fri­end, you ha­ve won the chal­len­ge of fin­ding a wo­man of yo­ur de­si­re, but can you to­day win the chal­len­ge of the it-se-wah?" Do­ub­le Run­ner ta­un­ted. "Or is yo­ur mind only on one thing? Hai-yah! Ok-yi­co­me! Jo­in the ga­me!"

Spotted Eag­le ga­ve Jole­na a wa­ve­ring glan­ce. When she nod­ded and smi­led, gi­ving her si­lent ap­pro­val, he jum­ped to his fe­et and fol­lo­wed Do­ub­le Run­ner to a le­vel, smo­oth pi­ece of gro­und that had be­en se­lec­ted for the ga­me. At each end a log and two bows and qu­ivers of ar­rows had be­en pla­ced.

Jolena sto­od among the crowd of Blac­k­fo­ot who we­re go­ing to watch the war­ri­ors gam­b­ling with a small whe­el cal­led the it-se-wah. It was abo­ut fo­ur in­c­hes in di­ame­ter and had fi­ve spo­kes, on which we­re strung dif­fe­rent co­lo­red be­ads ma­de of bo­ne.

Spotted Eag­le and Do­ub­le Run­ner to­ok the­ir pla­ces at each end of the co­ur­se. Jole­na lo­oked an­xi­o­usly aro­und her as the men who we­re not pla­ying be­gan to bet on the si­de, so­me cho­osing Spot­ted Eag­le as the win­ner, ot­hers cho­osing Do­ub­le Run­ner.

When the ga­me star­ted, Jole­na che­ered Spot­ted Eag­le on as she wat­c­hed, wi­de-eyed, to see how this ga­me was pla­yed. The whe­el was rol­led along the co­ur­se, and Spot­ted Eag­le and Do­ub­le Run­ner aimed the­ir ar­rows at it. Po­ints we­re co­un­ted ac­cor­dingly as the ar­rows pas­sed bet­we­en the spo­kes, or when the whe­el, stop­ped by the log at the ot­her end, ca­me in con­tact with the ar­row. The po­si­ti­on and ne­ar­ness of the dif­fe­rent be­ads to the ar­row rep­re­sen­ted a cer­ta­in num­ber of po­ints. The pla­yer who first sco­red ten po­ints won. Jole­na co­uld tell that it was a very dif­fi­cult ga­me and that a pla­yer had to be very skil­lful to win it.

Spotted Eag­le was the vic­tor. Do­ub­le Run­ner em­b­ra­ced him, la­ug­hing and swe­ating. "You ha­ve won it all to­day, my fri­end," he sa­id, his eyes dan­cing. "You ha­ve much to ce­leb­ra­te to­night in yo­ur lod­ge."

Jolena blus­hed, un­der­s­tan­ding his me­aning and an­xi­o­us to be a part of her hus­band's vic­tory!

Chapter Thirty-Five

Fi­ve Ye­ars La­ter

It had be­en a long and ti­ring day for Jole­na. She had go­ne with the ot­her wo­men of the vil­la­ge to dig up a go­od supply of ca­mas ro­ot whi­le it was still in its blo­oming sta­ge. A lar­ge pit had be­en dug in which a hot fi­re was bu­

ilt, and the wo­men had ba­ked the ca­mas for ho­urs.

Now the sun had set and a co­ol spring bre­eze was blo­wing thro­ugh the camp. A ro­aring fi­re was bur­ning in the fi­re­pit as Jole­na sat be­si­de her fat­her in­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le's lod­ge. They had just eaten a de­lig­h­t­ful me­al of ca­mas, the fresh-ro­as­ted ro­ots tas­ting li­ke a ro­as­ted ches­t­nut, with a lit­tle swe­et po­ta­to fla­vor.

Jolena ga­zed pro­udly over the fi­re at Spot­ted Eag­le as he was tel­ling the­ir son, Yel­low Eag­le, the dif­fe­rent ways to co­unt co­ups.

Although only fo­ur, Yel­low Eag­le was an apt stu­dent of Blac­k­fo­ot lo­re and cus­toms, al­re­ady ab­le to ri­de a hor­se and sho­ot the small bow and ar­row that his fat­her had ma­de for him.

Yellow Eag­le was just li­ke his fat­her in fe­atu­res, man­ner, and ha­bits. And this ma­de Jole­na very pro­ud and happy.

The only thing mis­sing from the­ir li­ves now was Spot­ted Eag­le's fat­her. He had pas­sed to the ot­her si­de, over the mo­un­ta­ins in­to the ghost land, the Sand Hills. On the day of his bu­ri­al ri­tes, Spot­ted Eag­le had sto­od be­fo­re his pe­op­le and had spo­ken to them of be­ing the­ir chi­ef.

The pe­op­le of his vil­la­ge had che­ered him on, lo­oking to him as a le­ader who wo­uld ke­ep them in pe­ace, for Spot­ted Eag­le to­ok pri­de in the fact that from his ear­li­est days ne­ver had he fo­ught the whi­te man.

Now Spot­ted Eag­le was be­gin­ning to pre­pa­re his own son for the ro­le of chi­ef. "Long ago, my son, when I was a small child of three, my fat­her sat me down be­si­de him, as you are sit­ting with me now, and ta­ught me many things," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id.

Spotted Eag­le stop­ped in mid-sen­ten­ce and eased Yel­low Eag­le from his lap when the so­und of hor­ses ap­pro­ac­hing out­si­de bro­ke the si­len­ce of the mo­on-sp­las­hed vil­la­ge.

"Who can that be?" Jole­na sa­id, scram­b­ling to her fe­et.

She jo­ined Spot­ted Eag­le at the en­t­ran­ce­way and sto­od asi­de as he lif­ted the buc­k­s­kin flap and pe­ered out­si­de. Then he step­ped from the te­pee, Jole­na fol­lo­wing him.

She slip­ped her arm thro­ugh Spot­ted Eag­le's as they awa­ited the ar­ri­val of tho­se who we­re ap­pro­ac­hing. The­re we­re ten hor­se­men, flan­ked on each si­de by Spot­ted Eag­le's sen­t­ri­es, who kept a con­s­tant vi­gil sur­ro­un­ding the vil­la­ge, to ke­ep ene­mi­es from at­tac­king.

The mo­on was bright, and as the hor­se­men grew clo­ser, Jole­na re­cog­ni­zed mo­re than one of them as whi­te pe­op­le, not only by the­ir at­ti­re, but by the be­ards that so­me of them wo­re.

"It has be­en many mo­ons sin­ce whi­te pe­op­le ca­me in­to our vil­la­ge, es­pe­ci­al­ly wit­ho­ut an in­vi­ta­ti­on to do so," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "I do not wish to sha­re a smo­ke with any of them. Too many are ta­king land that do­es not be­long to them! If ever I ma­ke war, it will be aga­inst them!"

"Warring is not the way," Jole­na mur­mu­red. "I ho­pe that you will not be­co­me as the Si­o­ux, Sit­ting Bull, who is se­eking con­f­ron­ta­ti­on with the whi­te sol­di­ers. I ho­pe that you wo­uld still fol­low yo­ur own he­art, dar­ling, by ne­ver se­e­ing war as the only way to find jus­ti­ce for our pe­op­le."

Spotted Eag­le ga­zed down at her. "It is al­ways go­od to he­ar you say 'our pe­op­le'," he sa­id, smi­ling. "Fawn, for so long you we­re not a part of us." He pa­used, then sa­id, "And do not worry abo­ut war­ring. I dif­fer from Sit­ting Bull. It is still my in­tent ne­ver to see the blo­od of our war­ri­ors spil­led ac­ross the land. If the­re is a pe­ace­ful me­ans to set­tle dis­pu­tes bet­we­en our pe­op­le and the whi­tes, I shall al­ways find it.'' "And what of the Cree, yo­ur ar­c­he­nemy?" Jole­na da­red to ask, glad that whi­le she had be­en mar­ri­ed to Spot­ted Eag­le the Cree had kept the­ir dis­tan­ce.

Tags: Cassie Edwards Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net