Savage Illusions

Jolena wi­ped te­ars from her eyes, than­k­ful to ha­ve be­en a wit­ness to her fat­her's de­ep emo­ti­ons and com­pas­si­on to­night.

This ma­de it easi­er not to be so torn bet­we­en lo­yal­ti­es whe­re fat­hers we­re con­cer­ned!

She now un­der­s­to­od the depths of his hurt when she had be­en de­ni­ed him tho­se eig­h­te­en sum­mers ago and all the ye­ars sin­ce.

She had so much to ma­ke up to him.

And she wo­ul­din many lo­vely ways.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Although he had ho­ped that war­ring wo­uldn't be re­qu­ired to res­cue Kirk, Spot­ted Eag­le fe­ared not­hing and was al­ways re­ady to fight.

He had put on a nec­k­la­ce of be­ar claws, a belt of be­ar fur, and aro­und his he­ad a band of fur. He was now re­ady for wha­te­ver the night ho­urs bro­ught him.

The mo­on was high in the sky, cas­ting its sil­ver light down upon many glit­te­ring lan­ces and brightly po­lis­hed we­apons as Spot­ted Eag­le and his war­ri­ors mo­ved with the pre­ci­si­o

n of cloc­k­work and the pri­de of ve­te­rans thro­ugh the hills and ra­vi­nes so that they co­uld not be se­en.

Spotted Eag­le had sent Do­ub­le Run­ner far ahe­ad to check on the Cree camp whe­re Kirk was be­ing held cap­ti­ve. When Spot­ted Eag­le spi­ed Do­ub­le Run­ner up ahe­ad, re­tur­ning, he sank his he­els in­to the flanks of his po­wer­ful ste­ed and bro­ke away from the ot­hers, ri­ding to me­et Do­ub­le Run­ner's ap­pro­ach.

Each man re­ined his hor­se to a stop alon­g­si­de the ot­her.

''What news ha­ve you bro­ught back to me?" Spot­ted Eag­le as­ked, wary when he saw that his sco­ut was we­aring a frown in­s­te­ad of the lo­ok of ex­ci­ted wa­ri­ness that al­ways ca­me in­to Do­ub­le Run­ner's eyes be­fo­re go­ing in­to an enemy's vil­la­ge.

"I fo­und the cam­ping pla­ce of the Cree war party de­ser­ted," Do­ub­le Run­ner sa­id in a low rum­b­le of a vo­ice.

Spotted Eag­le's spi­ne stif­fe­ned. "And what of Jole­na's whi­te brot­her?" he sa­id, his eyes lit with a sud­den, angry fi­re at the pos­si­bi­lity that he had be­en du­ped by his enemy!

"He is no lon­ger a cap­ti­ve of the Cree," Do­ub­le Run­ner sa­id.

"If you did not see the Cree, how do you know the fa­te of the whi­te man?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, for­king an eyeb­row as he le­aned clo­ser to Do­ub­le Run­ner.

"The whi­te man still hangs on the sta­ke, alo­ne whe­re the cam­p­si­te has be­en de­ser­ted," Do­ub­le Run­ner ex­p­la­ined. "I did not ven­tu­re to go to him alo­ne. I fe­ar this might be a trap."

"Yes, a trap," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, rub­bing his chin tho­ug­h­t­ful­ly. Then he lo­oked over his sho­ul­der at his war­ri­ors as they ro­de up be­hind him and drew re­in, wa­iting to see what his next com­mand might be. "We shall see. We will be pre­pa­red for an am­bush, if one is plan­ned."

He ex­p­la­ined ever­y­t­hing to his war­ri­ors and then they all ro­de ca­uti­o­usly on­ward, eyes dar­ting aro­und them, wat­c­hing gu­ar­dedly for any mo­ve­ments.

Spotted Eag­le ga­zed he­aven­ward, no­ti­cing that the mo­on was now hid­den be­hind a thick, black clo­ud.

Spotted Eag­le and his com­pa­ni­ons tra­ve­led on­ward, and when they ca­me clo­se to the Cre­es' aban­do­ned cam­p­si­te, they ro­de up in a ra­vi­ne be­hind it and bro­ught the­ir hor­ses to a halt.

Dismounting, Spot­ted Eag­le se­cu­red his hor­se's re­ins to a low tree limb, his war­ri­ors fol­lo­wing his le­ad. With his qu­iver of ar­rows se­cu­red to his back, and clut­c­hing his bow, ke­eping the we­apons re­ady in ca­se they we­re ne­eded, Spot­ted Eag­le crept in­to a lar­ge bunch of rye grass to hi­de as he sur­ve­yed the aban­do­ned camp with slow, in­ten­se eyes.

He co­uld tell that the Cree had torn down the lod­ges and pac­ked the­ir dog tra­vo­is in has­te, for they had pac­ked in such a hurry that they had left many lit­tle things lying in camp.

Spotted Eag­le co­uld see kni­ves, awls, bo­ne ne­ed­les, and moc­ca­sins scat­te­red aro­und on the pac­ked earth.

When the clo­ud fi­nal­ly scur­ri­ed on past, and the mo­on's glow aga­in il­lu­mi­ned ever­y­t­hing as tho­ugh it we­re mor­ning, it re­ve­aled the sta­ke on which Kirk was ti­ed, his he­ad bo­wed, mo­ti­on­less. Do­ub­le Run­ner eased him­self clo­ser to Spot­ted Eag­le. "He is de­ad?" he whis­pe­red, the rif­le bar­rel he car­ri­ed shi­ning be­ne­ath the mo­on's bright rays.

Fearing its ref­lec­ti­on might cast it­self whe­re it did not be­lon­g­per­haps in the eye of a Cree wa­iting to am­bush tho­se who wo­uld res­cue the whi­te man, Spot­ted Eag­le pla­ced his hand on­to Do­ub­le Run­ner's rif­le and qu­ickly lo­we­red it to his sco­ut's si­de.

"We might be de­ad if you do not use mo­re ca­uti­on," Spot­ted Eag­le war­ned, gla­ring at Do­ub­le Run­ner. "Even you think this might be a trap. Act ac­cor­dingly."

Double Run­ner nod­ded, then pe­ered at Kirk aga­in. "And what do we do now?" he whis­pe­red.

Spotted Eag­le lo­oked over his sho­ul­der at his ot­her war­ri­ors. He ma­de a wi­de swing in the air with his free hand. "Ever­yo­ne spre­ad," he flatly or­de­red. "Go with much ca­re as you sur­ro­und this cam­p­si­te. If you find the Cree, si­len­ce them with yo­ur kni­ves be­fo­re they can alert ot­hers. For this a rif­le is use­less. Ta­ke yo­ur kni­ves!"