Wild Whispers

In the foothills there were quail and coyotes. Some of the flat valleys were covered with soft, gray-green sagebrush.

Kaylene had never seen anything as beautiful as this mountain and its offerings.

It was all like one big magnificent painting.

It was as though she were entering another world, one which had never included her mother, the carnival, and perhaps never would again!

Chapter 8

Let those love now who never loved,

Let those who have loved, love again.

—COVENTRY PATMORE

Kaylene’s spine stiffened as the mountain spread out and Fire Thunder took her across an extensive valley, where nestled under great-grandfatherly trees was a mixture of glistening wigwams, Mexican jacals, which were small huts, and cabins.

She gazed at the wigwams. Instead of being covered with birch bark, as she knew they were in the northern states she had traveled with the carnival, they were covered with something else. The absence of birch trees in Mexico, had apparently forced the Kickapoo to seek a new material for their lodge coverings.

Soon she recognized that the coverings were cattail mats. She knew them well, because her mother had acquired several cattail mats from an Indian tribe to make traveling in a covered wagon more comfortable.

At the far end of the village, stood a lodge which she knew must be the medicine lodge. It was distinct from the others, painted with the symbols of the shaman’s particular dream-giving powers—two huge grizzly bears in black, below which were red circles of moons.

Way beyond the village, in the farther re

aches of the valley, Kaylene saw vast herds of longhorns grazing. On the far side of the pasture, she saw many beautiful horses fenced off from the longhorns.

In another section of the valley, away from the animals, crops were growing in extensive fields.

She assumed from these sights that the Kickapoo were a rich tribe, far richer than the Indians who lived across the border in the States.

She had heard tell of the Mexicans having been generous to an Indian tribe, in order to get them to come to Mexico, to help ward off Comanche renegades.

Now she knew which tribe. She knew which chief led this tribe, and silently admired his prowess and power, now more than before.

If only she had not been given cause to hate him, she thought sadly to herself. This man, this powerful Kickapoo chief, had the means to give her all that she had ever hungered and dreamed for. Roots.

It was obvious that he and his people had deeply entrenched roots in this mountain land. She doubted anyone could ever wrench it away from them. She silently envied them, wishing she could, somehow, become a part of it.

As they entered the village, people came from their lodges to stare. When they saw Kaylene on the horse with Fire Thunder, they held their children back so that they could not come to greet their chief as they usually did.

It was obvious to Kaylene that these people did not trust all that easily.

When they shifted their gazes and saw Little Sparrow on Black Hair’s horse with him, they broke into relieved smiles to know that she was safe and unharmed.

Then Kaylene started when a man and woman ran from their lodge and met Fire Thunder’s approach.

Fire Thunder drew a tight rein as they came to the right side of his horse, their anxious eyes on him.

“I do not see Good Bear with you,” Gentle Song said worriedly. “You found your sister. Where is my son?”

Fire Thunder’s gaze wavered. “I hoped that he would be here,” he said thickly. “I hoped that he would return home. You have not seen him?”

Tears sprang from Gentle Song’s eyes. She placed a hand over her mouth in despair. “He is lost!” she cried. “I know he must be dead!”

White Foot gathered his wife into his arms. He gazed up at Fire Thunder. “You will send many warriors out to look for my son?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Or do you blame him still for what happened to your sister?”

White Foot looked over at Little Sparrow, then up at Fire Thunder again. “You have your sister with you again,” he said, holding his wife more closely when sobs racked her frail body. “Do not forget what our son means to us.”