Night Thunder's Bride: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 3 (2 page)

Propelling himself forward, out of the shadows, Night Thunder leaped into the
Kainah
encampment, making as much noise as he could, in order that he draw attention to himself.

“Night Thunder!”

He heard the woman scream out his name in the white man’s tongue. Odd, he thought fleetingly, that her voice would sound so pleasant, even under such duress.

“Go back,” she shouted at him. “There’s naught you can do for me here. There are too many of them.”

Night Thunder paid her little attention. He took note of Strikes The Bear, saw the man turn his head slightly. Night Thunder drew his arms together over his chest, preparing to meet the other Indian in silent battle. But all the other Indian did by way of greeting was grunt before he turned back toward the woman. He shouted, “
Omaopii
!
Be quiet!” and at the same time, reached out toward her as though he might strike her.

“The devil bless you,” she spat out, defiance coloring her voice, her composure, her bearing. And Night Thunder realized that though the white woman might not have understood Strikes The Bear’s words, she had clearly grasped his actions.

Strikes The Bear shrieked all at once and sprang forward, slashing out at her again with his knife. Another piece of her dress fell to the ground. But the white woman held onto her pride, this time not uttering even a sound.

Night Thunder congratulated her silently for her fortitude. He cautioned himself, however, to show nothing: not admiration,
not pride, not even his anger. “
Oki, nitakkaawa,
hello, my friends,” he said at last to the warriors at large. Then, with what he hoped was a tinge of humor, he added, “Do we intend to start treating the white women as that man does ours?”

“
Miistapoot,
go away, my cousin.” It was Strikes The Bear who spoke. “We do not wish to hear your talk if it is to say bad things about what we do.”

“You think that I would say bad things about this?”

Strikes The Bear groaned slightly before he continued, “We all know how you cater to the white man, spending so much time in his forts and lodges. Many are the times when we have likened you to a dog seeking the white man’s scraps. But you are alone in your regard for this woman. Most of us hate the white man for what he has done to us, to those dear to us. Look around you. Do you not see that each warrior here has suffered from the white man’s crimes? We do not wish to hear your honeyed words about him.”

Night Thunder listened patiently, as was the way of his people, and he paused only slightly before responding, “I come here before you with no pleasant talk for the white man on my tongue. But this woman, she is different.”

“Go away. I will do as duty requires me. Can you deny that I have the right and the obligation to do to this white woman those things which were done to my wife? Is it not true that only in this way can my spirit, and my woman’s, at last find peace?”

Night Thunder again paused, long enough to show respect for what Strikes The Bear had said. But after a few moments, Night Thunder began,
“Aa,
yes, my cousin has cause to speak and to do as he does, I think, and all our people weep with him in his grief.” Night Thunder shifted his weight, the action giving emphasis to his next words. “But even as he scolds the white man for his ways and scorns his path, I see that my cousin adopts his customs, too. For is it not the sweet scent of the trader’s nectar that I smell here in your camp? Is it not the stench of whisky on your breath that I inhale as you speak to me? I cannot help but wonder how a man can curse one part of a society while holding another dear.”

Strikes The Bear howled and turned away from the woman. He took a few menacing steps toward Night Thunder before, motioning with his arms, he snarled, “
Miistapoot
! Go away!”

Night Thunder didn’t flinch, nor did he raise an arm against his cousin. “I think you have had too much of the whisky, my cousin,” he said. “It would be best if you slept through the night before you decided what to do with this woman.”

“
Miistapoot!
I will hear none of what you say. No man can tell another man what to do.”

Night Thunder nodded. “So the old men of our tribe tell us. But if you value your life and your few possessions, you will take great heed of my words.”

Strikes The Bear hesitated. “You speak in riddles. Say what you mean.”

“I mean that you must leave this woman alone.”

These words seemed to cause Strikes The Bear great humor, for he began to laugh, though there was little amusement in the sound of it. At last, though, Strikes The Bear said, “My cousin has taken leave of his senses, I think.”

Night Thunder grinned. “Perhaps I have,” he said, “or perhaps you should ensure that you learn all that you can about a woman before you decide to use her for your own purposes.”

“A white woman? What value is a white woman to me? There seem to be so few of them that maybe if we kill them all, the white man will go away, since he will have no one in which to plant his seed.”

This statement appeared to amuse the crowd, and Night Thunder smiled along with them. Shortly, however, he held up a hand, silencing all present as he said, “You speak with the foresight of a child, my cousin. Must I remind you of the teachings of the elders in the value of life?”

“Not a white man’s life.”

“Who said I speak of a white man’s life?”

Strikes The Bear smirked. “Are your eyes so weak, my cousin, that you cannot see the color of this captive’s skin?”

“Is your mind so cluttered,” Night Thunder countered, “that you have failed to discover that she is not only white, she is
Siksika
?
She is Blackfoot.”

This statement stopped Strikes The Bear. And Night Thunder, quick to press his advantage said, “I hope that you are ready to give me many horses for the insult you bring to me.”

With these words all sounds within the camp stopped. Everyone and everything suddenly stilled, and all attention swung to Night Thunder.

Strikes The Bear recovered before the rest. “
Miistapoot, nitakkaawa,
go away, my friend,” he said, annoyed. “Your words make little sense. I have no quarrel with you. Leave here before I decide to begin one.”

“You already have one.”

“
Otam,
later we can talk of this.”

“We talk of it now. This woman is
Siksika,
Blackfoot.”

Strikes The Bear straightened up to his full height and glared at Night Thunder, a stare that would have sent lesser men scurrying away. Not only was Strikes The Bear a huge hulk of a man, resembling in size his namesake, he perpetually wore a scowl upon his face which gave him an evil cast. Most people, even the gallant men from the
Pikuni,
left him alone.

At last, the larger man spoke: “Why do you say this, my cousin?”

Night Thunder paused significantly. Then, slowly he uttered, “Because she is my wife.”

Astonishment, utter and profound, filled the encampment, causing the silence to become ominous and oppressive.

“
Ohkiimaan,
wife?” Strikes The Bear spoke up, filling the void. He grinned, his smile becoming wider and wider until he laughed at length. “
Omaniit,
”
he said, “be truthful.”

Night Thunder didn’t even blink. “I am. This woman is my wife. You have brought me great insult. I expect you will have to give me many horses for what you are doing.”

Strikes The Bear laughed. “
Ikkahsanii,
you joke. We all know that Blue Raven Woman waits for you in a
Kainah
village in our homeland. Do you mean to dishonor her by taking another—a white woman—as your first wife?”

“
Saa,
no,” Night Thunder answered without delay, though in truth, he desired more time to think. In his haste to save the white woman, he had forgotten about Blue Raven Woman.

“She will not be happy to learn that you have married another as your ‘sits-beside-him’ wife.”

“She will honor our parents’ wishes, as will I,” Night Thunder asserted. “But we leave the point. This woman upon whom you seek to claim revenge is my wife and I assert all rights to her.”

“
Saa,
no, I stole her. She is mine now to use as the whites used my wife.”

Night Thunder allowed a moment to lapse before he spoke again. Then, calmly striding forward, he began, “
Aa,
yes, my cousin, it is right that you seek revenge, but would it not be better to wreak vengeance upon the men who did this terrible thing to you and your wife, than upon an innocent who knows not of it? Is it not true that if you do this thing to her, you will be making yourself into as treacherous a being as the white man? Is it this that you wish?”

Strikes The Bear screeched, then glared at Night Thunder. It was several moments before the other Indian answered, “You insult me, I think. It was
my
intention to
marry
this woman.” A smile, more evil than humorous, split Strikes The Bear’s face before he glanced back at the woman to say, “To have her take the place of my wife.”

Night Thunder didn’t flinch. “We all know that you lie.”

Strikes The Bear growled.

Night Thunder ignored it and pressed on. “We all know what your intentions were before I walked into this camp. I will give you only one more chance to keep your honor before I am forced to challenge you. I am the husband of this woman. She is mine and you may not use her. Give her to me.”

“
Saa
, no!” Strikes The Bear, holding up his knife, leapt before Night Thunder, and bending down at the knees, motioned Night Thunder forward. “If you want her, you must take her from me. But I warn you that if you kill me, which you will have to do in order to have her, my relatives will not rest until you, too, have departed for the Sand Hills.”

Night Thunder had already bent forward, had already anticipated this fight. He said, “You are foolish, my cousin. Do you forget that your relatives are mine, too?”

That statement seemed to settle upon Strikes The Bear as no blow could have. Momentarily, Strikes The Bear straightened. “She cannot be your wife.”

“She is.”

“
Wai’syamattse,
prove it.”

“I do not have to. My word is enough.”

“
Aa,
yes, your word.” Strikes The Bear’s eyes gleamed with a peculiar glow. “You are quick to give your word to save this woman. A little too quick. If this be true, you should have no unwillingness to ‘Swear by the Horn’ that this woman is your wife.”

Night Thunder stopped perfectly still, stunned. Though he had anticipated there would be punishment for any lie he told, he had not considered that Strikes The Bear might challenge him to this particular oath. Night Thunder hesitated.

To “Swear by the Horn” meant to pledge by the Honor of the Blackfoot Horn Society that what one said was truth. To lie meant certain death, and within very few moons.

Night Thunder quickly evaluated his choices. He could fight these men, but they were his brothers. It would mean killing his own kind; it might mean being killed. He could continue to lie; this, too, would incur his death and the destruction of his honor.

But wouldn’t his lies also spare the woman’s life…and that of his brothers?

Haiya,
that was enough for him. Why did he hesitate?

With a spirit of loyalty and a sense of duty that would have put the most stouthearted patriot to shame, Night Thunder decided his future. “I will do it,” he declared. “I will ‘Swear by the Horn.’”

Strikes The Bear smirked. “Then let it be done.”

Murmurings could be heard from the other Indians who had watched the entire proceedings. Preparations for the oath started, but an older, wiser man noted for his fairness and honesty broke away from the circle of warriors.

He stepped forward, pacing toward the two warriors who stood in the center of the circle. Slowly, and with what seemed great deliberation, he began, “
Saa,
no, the vow need not be done. Not here, not now.” He strode up to Strikes The Bear. “We do not have all of the men from the Horn Society here that we might let our friend take this oath. All twenty-five members must be present before the oath can be clearly taken. I say our friend’s willingness to do it is enough.”

“
Haiya,
”
Strikes The Bear insisted. “I do not believe him.”

The old man persisted, “It is enough.”

Strikes The Bear hesitated, unwilling, as were most young Indian men, to challenge an elder’s authority. He gave Night Thunder a malevolent glare, however, and continued, speaking to the crowd at large, “If she is truly his wife, surely he would not object to our demanding some proof.”

“I have given you my word,” Night Thunder protested. But the warriors seemed not to hear him, their murmurings supporting Strikes The Bear.

Night Thunder forced himself to appear aloof. Neither by face nor manner would he permit himself to betray his agitation. As strongly he was able, he said, “Did not all of you hear her call out to me as I entered your camp? Is that not proof enough?”

“That demonstrates nothing,” spat out Strikes The Bear. “We all know that you have spent several moons within the white man’s lodge. Because she knows who you are does not mean you are…special to her.”