Forever Ecstasy (16 page)

Joe knew he was referring to the confluence of the Cheyenne and Missouri rivers where Orin McMichael owned and ran a
trading post. He and Tanner hadn’t made it that far north before his friend’s death, but they had been told the Scotsman was friendly with all Indians.

“Now, they seek deer, elk, and buffalo. They kill without feeling and with much waste. If the game are all taken or frightened away, the Oglalas will die. When Indians try to trade furs to them, they pay little, and they ask high for their goods. They are filled with greed and deceit.”

Singing Wind handed both men buffalo berry wine to wet their throats and to calm them during the tense situation. She returned to her sitting mat and backrest to work and listen.

“We have helped the bluecoats. In what you call ‘1823,’ we rode with Colonel Leavenworth and U.S. troops to defeat the Arikaras. We let the man called George Catlin come to our villages and paint pictures of us on strange paper. We let the one called Francis Parkman visit camps and write words about our tribes and Nation. He stayed long with Chiefs Old Smoke and Whirlwind. Lewis and Clark journeyed our lands. They drew pictures of trees, animals, and plants. They made maps of forests, streams, hills, and trails. They were not harmed. Joe Kenny, father of my brother’s wife, was our friend. Soldiers like Sturgis and Ames were our friends. In the old days, few wars came between whites and Indians. Those days are gone.”

Joe held silent, alert, and respectful while Sun Cloud sipped his drink. He didn’t know which direction this talk was taking.

“Once the Dakotas ruled from Canada to the Platte River, from Minnesota to the Yellowstone. Many of those hunting grounds and streams have been stolen by whites. Tribes have left them or been pushed out by soldiers. When your people signed a treaty with the French called the Louisiana Purchase, it was wrong. They did not own these lands. Now your people will not confess their mistake and leave us in peace. Our ancestors live in the winds that blow over us, in the rains that refresh Mother Earth, in the trees and grasses and flowers that make her beautiful. They live in the glows of the sun and moon, and in all forces of nature that claimed their bodies from death scaffolds. Their spirits live in the hearts and memories of those left behind. They live in the legends they created, in the images of their bloodlines, in the scenes on the tribal record hide, in our songs and stories,
and in all they taught us. Now your people want us to forget our dead, our ways, our world. How can a man forget all he is? Does that not make peace cost too much? If you steal all a man has, what good is survival without his spirit and dignity?”

“A good man can’t forget what he is, Sun Cloud,” Joe concurred. “That’s why Stede Gaston came here. We don’t want your lands, and we want to make certain others don’t steal them. A man can’t live without his dignity and honor. The Americans know Dakotas sided with the British during their war for independence and during the War of 1812; what they don’t know is that it wasn’t the Oglalas. The Dakota Nation is viewed as a whole, and the Americans know it’s a strong and large nation. They don’t want to fight you.”

“They ask for treaties. When we sign, they use them to make soldiers force us from our lands. If we do not mark our names on papers, they cannot lie about us; they cannot say we sold them our lands.”

“If you’ll sign the new treaty with Fitzpatrick, I’ll read every word to you. I’ll make certain no tricks or lies are included. You can record every word in your language, then have them sign your paper. If trouble comes again, you can read the treaty to the authorities to prove you’re right.”

“Their words on paper are worthless.”

“No, Sun Cloud,” Joe answered him. “Treaties are legal. They’re like laws; they can’t be broken unless your side declares war on us. If one side wants changes made, a meeting must be called so differences can be discussed. A treaty isn’t and can’t be destroyed without a good reason. We signed treaties with the British. They’re our friends now. We haven’t battled in thirty-six years. We visit their countries and trade with them, and they do the same with us. Can you say that about the Crow? President Fillmore will honor the treaty.” - “What if another white chief takes his place?”

“We do change leaders more than your people, but new leaders honor treaties and laws other Presidents made. It’s our way, Sun Cloud. If you made a treaty with us, wouldn’t Night Stalker honor it when he became chief? Wouldn’t he need a good reason to break it?”

Sun Cloud watched the white man as he said, “Night Stalker
does not trust whites; he voted against you. If I am slain or hand the bonnet over to him, he will speak against you and for war. Most follow the chief.”

Joe was stunned by that revelation, as Morning Star had told him the voting was cast in secret, even though most men voiced their opinions aloud. Unless everyone voted against him and all sticks were black, how could Sun Cloud know which way his son voted? His concern showed.

Morning Star came to sit beside her father. She could stand the suspense no longer, as she knew how worried Joe must be. She gazed into her father’s eyes with a pleading she hoped would coax exposure of his good news.

Sun Cloud grasped her unspoken request and the warring emotions within her. He was concerned over how the vote would affect his family. He prayed that she was not the female in Payaba’s vision, but feared she was. He speculated that was why the two had been thrown together. He was acquainted with her skills, so he knew she could handle the task. But he didn’t want her traveling with Tanner alone for so long.

“What did you vote, Sun Cloud?” Joe asked to break the silence.

“I voted to free you,” the older man revealed, then explained the meeting to the other man. “If you lie, I will slay you with my own hands,” he warned. “You will leave when the sun rises. Go to the fort and speak with the man you trust there. Return and meet with us. A female will be chosen to travel with you. We will give you until the end of buffalo season to seek and destroy our enemy, or until the bluecoats attack. We will not raid against whites or Crow. If you fail, you must leave our lands.”

“It is agreed, Sun Cloud.” Joe smiled in relief.

“It is good, Father,” Morning Star concurred in excitement. Now that her father had related the events of the meeting, she wouldn’t have to fear unmasking herself with careless slips.

“We shall see, Daughter.”

“I will gather supplies to be ready to ride when… Tanner returns.”

“No, Morning Star.”

“I am best trained,” she argued as dismay filled her.

“Your father’s right, Morning Star,” Joe concurred
prematurely.

“There will be a contest while he is gone. All women who wish to enter may do so. The winner will ride with Tanner Gaston. It will be the female with the most skills and courage who wins. All must have the chance to become She-Who-Rode-With-The-Sky-Warrior. Grandfather did not reveal her face and name to Payaba, but he will choose her in the test.”

Joe didn’t like that idea, as he somehow knew Morning Star had spoken the truth when she told him she was the best trained. Still, it was a fair way to make a choice. If Sun Cloud’s daughter won, it wouldn’t be the same as him selecting her above the others, so it shouldn’t cause jealousy and trouble. He was elated and alarmed by the prospect of being alone with her.

Morning Star beamed with joy and anticipation. She was eager for the contest to begin, as she felt confident about winning it. What other girl in their tribe could shoot, ride, hunt, and fight as she could? None.

“We must sleep. Have you tended his wound?” Sun Cloud asked.

“Han, Ata,”
she replied.

“You sleep there,” he told Joe, pointing to a mat away from the other three which were positioned close tonight on the other side.

“Pilamaya, Mahpiya Wi,”
Joe thanked him.

“It is good you learn our tongue and ways. Knowing them, you will not offend with mistakes that can bring shame and death.” Sun Cloud glanced at his radiant daughter, then returned his meaningful gaze to the newcomer.

Joe captured the hint in the chief’s words and nodded understanding and acceptance, though he knew how hard it would be to keep his word.

They took their places to pass an unusual night. The small, rock-enclosed fire had died. For a time, an unoffensive odor of smoke lingered in the conical dwelling. The top flap was adjusted for the flow of fresh air, but the entry flap was closed for privacy. Except for distant sounds of nocturnal birds, insects, and frogs, it was quiet in this secluded area.

The clean, neat tepee told Joseph Lawrence that Singing Wind was an organized woman. He knew that she and Morning
Star had tanned these hides, gathered these poles, and constructed this cozy surrounding. Even though it was too dim to see much, his keen eyes and alert senses had taken in many details during the evening. Six large poles— tall, straight, and debarked— made a sturdy framework, then many slender ones leaned against them to provide strength, support, and shaping. The fifteen-foot pointed cluster was covered by buffalo skins that were laced together by deft hands to stay in place, especially during brisk winds and storms.

A colorfully painted dew-cloth, an added layer of brain-tanned hides stitched together to form a lengthy roll, was suspended from a height of five feet to the ground; this strip discouraged drafts at the base and provided added warmth and beauty for the simple home. It also diverted the rain that could
run
down the poles to the outside, and created an air flow that
forced
smoke upward and out the top flap. The numerous lining ties were secured to a rope that went from post to post and was attached to each. Possessions hung from the strong rope: medicine bag, parfleches— the equal of white man’s drawers
and
chests for clothing and such— sewing pouch, weapons— which women never handled— backrests, larger pouches for holding dishes and cookware. When not in use, sitting and sleeping mats were rolled and kept near the tepee base. Joe was amazed that all their worldly possessions could be contained in such a small abode.

Yet Joe knew that Lakotas were nomadic, and that they lived a simple and routine existence. Other than horses, acquired by trade or theft, they cared little for collecting “worldly” riches. He mused on the number and variety of items in his home and in his father’s office in Virginia, when this family could hold almost all of their goods inside one Lawrence closet. He thought of the amount of clothing and jewels most women of his acquaintance owned, when Morning Star had only a few garments and modest beadwork. He reflected on the foods and treats that whites loved and demanded during a meal, particularly when dining out, when these people had a simple diet that they themselves gathered or killed.

As Joe’s mind drifted before slumber claimed him, he realized again how many differences there were between himself
and the daughter of the Red Heart chief. Whites worshipped in churches and learned in schools, while Indians used nature’s surroundings or their tepees. Whites executed or jailed criminals, whereas Indians slew or banished theirs. Lakotas met other tribes for exchange fairs or, on a rare occasion, dealt with a post or traveling trader; there were no stores, specialty shops, and busy towns in this territory. There were no trains, ships, or coaches here— only horses and
travois
for travel and transport. There were no theaters for plays and orchestras to offer enjoyment, or casinos for gambling, or businessmen to obtain wanted items, or workers to hire for laborious tasks, or seamtresses to make clothing, or large homes for parties and dances, or servants for doing daily chores.

He had been reared by a wealthy and educated family. But he had Stede, Molly, and Tanner Gaston to thank for teaching him about down-to-earth living. He had learned much from them over the years since meeting Tanner at school. He had spent many holidays in their home and shared many trips with the family. Not that his parents had allowed him to become spoiled, self-indulgent, or lazy— but the Gastons had honed his best traits and had inspired others. To him, Stede and Molly had been like a special uncle and aunt; Tanner had been like his brother.

Tanner— his loss was terrible. Joe couldn’t imagine never seeing his best friend again or sharing good times with him. It was painful to think of never hearing Tanner’s voice and laughter, of never viewing his lopsided smile, of never hunting and riding side by side, of all the things they would never get to do together, of him missing this soul-stirring adventure. Anger and bitterness gnawed at Joe, and he knew he must find Tanner’s murderer.

Tanner would have liked Morning Star and his other Indian relatives. He was liked by nearly everyone he met. He had possessed an instinct about people and he’d known how to deal with all types. Many times Tanner’s wits and skills had gotten Joe out of a bad situation or prevented one. Tanner had been easygoing and unique.

Unique, as was his beautiful Indian cousin. Joe was aware of Morning Star’s close proximity. Her essence was in the still air
and it seemed to engulf him, as if her spirit was touching his flesh from head to toe. He admired and respected her and her parents. He was pleased and proud of his success today. When he left in the morning, he would miss the young woman nearby. He would hurry to return from his trip to Fort Tabor to see Captain James “Jim” Thomas. At least he was grateful that Zeke and his boys were heading in the opposite direction, unless they had used another false trail to mislead him!

Joe was fatigued from riding and worrying, but he was relaxed over the council vote and his acceptance by Sun Cloud. His heavy lids drooped and closed. Soon, he was asleep.

Morning Star was not a captive of slumber but an emotional prisoner of the white man in her home. His pattern of breathing told her his restive spirit had found release. It was wrong, but she wished she were lying on the mat with him. She had felt safe but stimulated at his side. Any distance between them now seemed to evoke a feeling of denial. Yet she must conceal those emotions, must halt and prevent such forbidden desires. Her father believed in avoiding temptations to prevent yielding to them.