Swift Horse

He pulled her closer to him and held her there until he saw that she was asleep, then sighed deeply and gave in to sleep himself.

While he slept, he dreamed. In that dream he was in a cave, lit on all sides by torches burning brightly. These torches were lined up all along the walls on both sides, seemingly there to lead him to something.

He was alone. He felt the dampness of the cave all around him, and saw an occasional bat fly around his head, then disappear.

And then he saw something else. He saw a trunk at the far back of the cave. He hurried to it.

When he reached it, he bent to his knees and slowly opened the lid, then gasped and almost fell backward when he discovered scalps, jewelry—the sort that white people wore, intermingled—and so many other things that only an evil person would place there—someone who enjoyed killing and taking scalps.

There were many more things there, but Swift Horse was aware of something else—the crash of water from somewhere behind him.

Then he recognized it to be the sound of a waterfall.

He knew now that he was behind the waterfall that he loved, and that whoever had brought this trunk into this cave had done so by having stepped behind the waterfall to find a cave that Swift Horse had never been aware of.

He awakened in a sweat, so abruptly that it had disturbed Marsha. She leaned up on an elbow and gazed at him.

She saw that he was covered with sweat and she saw a look of horror in his eyes.

“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked, reaching a gentle hand to his face, then drew her hand away. “Darling, you are covered with sweat. Tell me. What did you dream about?”

“There is a cave behind the waterfall,” he blurted out, suddenly sitting up. He stroked his hands through his thick hair, bringing it back over his shoulders.

He turned to her. “The waterfall where we have made love?” he said. “In my dream, I discovered that someone else has been there.”

“I’m sure there has been,” Marsha said, sitting up beside him. “It’s such a lovely place.”

“Perhaps not,” Swift Horse said thickly. “You see, we sat there and enjoyed the falls. If my dream, which is always the same as my visions, is true, someone used the falls in a very different, evil way.”

“But how?” Marsha asked, drawing a blanket up and around her shoulders.

“Often my dreams—my visions—are true,” Swift Horse said. “If so, what I dreamed tonight is also true. If I go to the waterfall tomorrow, I will surely find a cave behind it. And in that cave I will surely find a trunk.”

“A trunk?” Marsha asked, searching his eyes, which seemed haunted.

“It is filled with many things that only an evil man would place there,” Swift Horse said, his voice breaking. “I saw scalps, jewelry that had to have been taken from white people . . .”

A shiver of disgust rippled across Marsha’s flesh. She hugged herself with her arms. “Do you think those things were placed there by the one-eyed man—by One Eye?” she asked guardedly.

“I will soon know,” he said determinedly.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, watching as he drew a blanket around his own shoulders.

“I will not disturb my people’s celebration tonight, but tomorrow is another day and the celebration will be behind us,” he said. “Tomorrow I will go and see if my dreams are real again. I will see if there is a cave behind the falls.”

“Won’t it be dangerous to go behind the falls?” Marsha asked softly.

“There is danger in many things, but when answers are needed, the fear of danger is not a problem,” he said, staring into the flames of the fire. “But if I do find what my dreams showed to me, yes, I believe it will be the work of the one-eyed man.”

He turned to her with determination in his eyes. “It will be the work of One Eye,” he said, finding it hard, himself, that he now truly believed that the man who was his friend for so long was the one who committed the crimes he was now being accused of.

“Finally you believe me,” Marsha said, dropping the blanket from around her. She flung herself into his arms, causing his own blanket to flutter down around his waist.

“May I go with you tomorrow?” Marsha blurted out.

“Yes, you can accompany me there,” he replied. “It is only right that you do. You see, I owe you an apology for not having listened to you from the beginning. I will repay you in every way that I can. Tomorrow is the beginning of those ways.”

“Thank you,” she said, tears filling her eyes.