Savage Illusions

An oc­ca­si­onal herd of buf­fa­lo or an­te­lo­pe was sig­h­ted, and along the wo­oded ri­ver val­leys and on the pi­ne-clad slo­pes of the mo­un­ta­ins, elk, de­er, and wild she­ep fed in gre­at num­bers.

The scor­c­hing bre­ath of early sum­mer stir­red the tall, we­aving stems of the buf­fa­lo grass. Jole­na had be­en told that the­re we­re all kinds of ro­ots and ber­ri­es gro­wing in abun­dan­ce in this land of sky, sun, pra­irie, and mo­un­ta­in­s­wild car­rots, wild tur­nips, swe­et-ro­ot, bit­ter-ro­ot, bull ber­ri­es, cher­ri­es, and plums among them.

Thinking of this wil­der­ness fo­od ma­de her ga­ze up at Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in, thin­king that su­rely the wo­men of his vil­la­ge we­re kept busy se­ar­c­hing for the­se dif­fe­rent fo­od­s­tuf­fs.

She clo­sed her eyes, mo­men­ta­rily en­vi­si­oning her­self among such wo­men, dres­sed as they we­re in soft do­es­kins, with per­haps a to­uch of blo­od­ro­ot on her che­eks to li­ven up her co­lor for the man she lo­ved, for the man she wo­uld ta­ke her bas­ket of ber­ri­es and ro­ots ho­me to. He wo­uld enj­oy the fru­its of her la­bor, then ta­ke her to his bed and pay her in the way hus­bands ever­y­w­he­re sho­wed the­ir gra­ti­tu­de to the­ir wi­ves.

Feeling the slo­wing of the co­ve­red wa­gon in the way the

se­at swa­yed and sho­ok be­ne­ath her, Jole­na's eyes flew open. She lo­oked qu­es­ti­oningly over at Kirk as he drew a tight re­in when Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me ri­ding to­ward the­ir wa­gon, which was the first in the ex­pe­di­ti­on.

Spotted Eag­le drew a tight re­in be­si­de the wa­gon on Kirk's si­de, and when he tal­ked, it was to Kirk; yet his eyes we­re on Jole­na all the whi­le, sen­ding a sen­su­al thrill thro­ugh her he­art.

Jolena clas­ped her trem­b­ling fin­gers to the se­at and smi­led ner­vo­usly back at Spot­ted Eag­le, his ne­ar­ness fil­ling her in­si­des with so­met­hing stran­gely swe­et and fo­re­ign to her. Each ti­me the­ir eyes met, she knew that he was spe­aking to her wit­ho­ut words.

And she knew that he co­uld tell by her res­pon­se to his eyes that she was an­s­we­ring him in kind.

Soon they wo­uld be ab­le to spe­ak alo­ud to one anot­her, and she won­de­red what he wo­uld say to her first, and how she might res­pond to him wit­ho­ut re­ve­aling her he­ar­t­felt fe­elings for him.

''We will camp he­re for the night," Spot­ted Eag­le was sa­ying to Kirk. "The­re is wa­ter for drin­king. The­re are many cot­ton­wo­od tre­es. They gi­ve us sha­de for set­ting up camp. Al­so hor­ses and mu­les li­ke to eat the bark of the­se tre­es. It is go­od for them. The grass he­re is yo­ung and he­althy al­so for the ani­mals."

Kirk glan­ced from Jole­na to Spot­ted Eag­le, anot­her war­ning sho­oting thro­ugh him when he saw aga­in how her sis­ter and this gu­ide we­re at­trac­ted to one anot­her. He ho­ped that Jole­na's at­trac­ti­on was only be­ca­use of her he­ri­ta­ge and her bur­ning qu­es­ti­ons abo­ut it.

He ho­ped that the In­di­an war­ri­or's qu­es­ti­ons we­re only be­ca­use he co­uld not un­der­s­tand why a wo­man with cop­per skin was cal­led Kirk's sis­ter, or why she min­g­led with the whi­te pe­op­le, as tho­ugh one of them.

Hopefully, on­ce Spot­ted Eag­le's cu­ri­osity was aba­ted, he wo­uld pla­ce his tho­ughts on ot­her mat­ters.

Kirk si­lently pra­yed to him­self that this wo­uld be so­on, for he fe­ared the­se fe­elings that might grow bet­we­en Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le.

"Whatever you say, Spot­ted Eag­le," Kirk sa­id, nod­ding. "If you think this is a sa­fe pla­ce, then who's to ar­gue abo­ut it?"

Kirk ga­zed aro­und him at the sec­lu­si­on of this val­ley in which they wo­uld be ma­king the­ir first camp away from ci­vi­li­za­ti­on. He co­uld not deny that part of him that was af­ra­id. Yet he had to con­ti­nue lo­oking bra­ve in Jole­na's eyes, es­pe­ci­al­ly in front of Spot­ted Eag­le.

Kirk did not want the In­di­an to ta­ke over as his sis­ter's pro­tec­tor!

Everyone left the­ir wa­gons and wor­ked to­get­her gat­he­ring wo­od for a fi­re, and just as fla­mes we­re le­aping aro­und he­avy logs, the af­ter­no­on was fa­ding in­to shif­ting sha­dows. A ha­ze of he­at set­tled over the val­ley as the sun set in­to a pur­p­le crad­le of clo­uds on the ho­ri­zon.

Spotted Eag­le and Two Rid­ges ma­de a si­lent kill with the­ir bows and ar­rows, and so­on me­at was drip­ping its tan­ta­li­zing ju­ices in­to the fla­mes of the cam­p­fi­re.

Billy, one of the wa­go­ners, the most burly and out­s­po­ken of them all, with a thick spro­uting of whis­kers on his craggy fa­ce, lif­ted a cof­fee pot from the hot co­als at the ed­ge of the fi­re. Af­ter he po­ured him­self a cup, he held the cof­fee pot to­ward Jole­na, whe­re she sat si­lently be­si­de her brot­her, nib­bling on a small por­ti­on of the ro­as­ted me­at.

"Hey, pretty thing, are you hun­ge­rin' for so­met­hin' to drink, or so­me­one to cozy up with?" Billy as­ked, his pa­le blue eyes ra­king over Jole­na. "If I co­ve­red you with my body, you'd su­re as hell not ne­ed a blan­ket."

The ot­her wa­go­ners chuc­k­led as they pe­ered at Jole­na, the­ir eyes re­ve­aling that the­ir tho­ughts we­re an­y­t­hing but de­cent.

"Well?" Billy per­sis­ted. "How's abo­ut it? Cat got yo­ur ton­gue? Or do you think you're too go­od for ol' Billy? Let me tell you, pretty thing, the­re's mo­re fi­re in this he­re man than ten ot­her men com­bi­ned. I'll show you just what lo­vin' is all abo­ut."

Jolena's fa­ce grew hot with an angry blush, and her he­art po­un­ded with em­bar­ras­sment. She gas­ped and grew cold in­si­de when Kirk slam­med his cof­fee cup down on the gro­und, splas­hing it empty, and ro­se to his full he­ight over the wa­go­ner.

"You've be­en hi­red to dri­ve the wa­gons, not in­sult my sis­ter," Kirk sa­id, do­ub­ling his hands in­to tight fists at his si­des. "You apo­lo­gi­ze or…"

Billy tos­sed the cof­fee pot and his cup to the gro­und and pus­hed him­self up to his full he­ight, to­we­ring over Kirk at six-fe­et and fo­ur-in­c­hes. He le­aned his craggy fa­ce down in­to Kirk's cle­an-sha­ven fa­ce. "Do you want to say all of that aga­in?" he da­red. "I ain't one to apo­lo­gi­ze, es­pe­ci­al­ly to a squ­irt li­ke you. I'd qu­ickly ma­ke min­ce­me­at out­ta you. Want to gi­ve it a try?"

"I ask for no fight, just for you to le­ave my sis­ter alo­ne," Kirk sa­id, swal­lo­wing hard as he ga­zed up in­to eyes of fi­re, and on­to sho­ul­ders twi­ce the si­ze of his. "Now let's just for­get abo­ut all of this and re­su­me our sup­per. We've many mo­re days to ha­ve to be aro­und one anot­her. Let us ma­ke the best of it."

Billy wo­uld not let up. Le­ering, he le­aned even clo­ser to Kirk's fa­ce. "That's fi­ne with me," he snar­led. "I don't see what the fuss is abo­ut an­y­how. She ain't no sis­ter of yo­urs. She's not­hin' mo­re than an In­di­an squ­aw dres­sed in whi­te wo­man's clot­hes. Why, as I se­es it, she ain't not­hin' but a red­s­kin sa­va­ge."

Gasps waf­ted thro­ugh the sci­en­tists who had be­en wat­c­hing with ba­ted bre­ath.