Page 76 of Savage Illusions

Spotted Eag­le held her clo­se, then eased away from her. "Ti­me so­on co­mes for yo­ur man to le­ave for the buf­fa­lo run," he sa­id, ben­ding over to gat­her up his fancy leg­gings in­to his arms aga­in. "You see the­se?"

Jolena wi­ped te­ars from her eyes and nod­ded as she ga­zed down at the leg­gings. She had no­ti­ced ear­li­er how pro­udly he had held and ga­zed at them. They we­re be­a­uti­ful­ly em­b­ro­ide­red with por­cu­pi­ne qu­il­ls and bright fe­at­hers.

"These are my hun­ting leg­gings," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, slip­ping in­to them. "They are gre­at me­di­ci­ne. Yo­ur man will bring ho­me much me­at for the long win­ter."

Jolena's tho­ughts we­re ca­ta­pul­ted back in ti­me, to when he had fo­und the be­a­uti­ful buf­fa­lo rock, and its me­aning. "I no lon­ger ha­ve the buf­fa­lo rock," she con­fes­sed. "It was lost to me the sa­me day my jo­ur­nals and but­terfly col­lec­ti­on we­re des­t­ro­yed. I'm so sorry, Spot­ted Eag­le. Ha­ving it with you co­uld ha­ve do­ub­led yo­ur chan­ces of a go­od buf­fa­lo run."

"The Sun will fol­low me all the day and bless my hunt," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, then knelt and be­gan go­ing thro­ugh his bun­d­les of clot­hes aga­in.

When he ro­se to his fe­et aga­in, with anot­her buc­k­s­kin out­fit ac­ross his arms and han­ded the­se to Jole­na, she lo­oked up at him with won­de­ring eyes, not su­re why he wo­uld want her to put on the clot­hes of a man.

"You we­ar the­se with me to the buf­fa­lo run," he sa­id. "I see it now that it is im­por­tant that you ac­com­pany me the­re. You ri­de hor­ses?"

"Somewhat," Jole­na sa­id, still stun­ned by his chan­ge of he­art abo­ut al­lo­wing her to go. Yet the mo­re she tho­ught abo­ut it, the mo­re she did un­der­s­tand.

It was be­ca­use of Kirk.

He didn't want to le­ave her alo­ne with Kirk!

He did fe­el thre­ate­ned by him!

"Then you will ri­de at my si­de and watch yo­ur man kill his first bull buf­fa­lo of this buf­fa­lo run," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, for­cing the clot­hes in­to her hands. "Dress qu­ickly. The sun ri­ses ste­adily in­to the he­avens. It so­on will be ti­me to go."

Her he­art po­un­ding, the ex­ci­te­ment bu­il­ding wit­hin her, Jole­na be­amed as she scram­b­led in­to the clot­hes. She gig­gled when she lo­oked down at how lo­osely the bre­ec­hes fit her.

Spotted Eag­le so­on re­me­di­ed that. He ti­ed a ro­pe aro­und her wa­ist and sto­od back smi­ling at her.

"Let us go, my wo­man," he sa­id, re­ac­hing a hand out to her. "You ha­ve much to le­arn to­day."

No lon­ger thin­king abo­ut kirk, or an­y­t­hing el­se that sto­od in the way of her be­co­ming Blac­k­fo­ot in all ways im­por­tant to her, Jole­na left the te­pee hand in hand with Spot­ted Eag­le, fe­eling very much ali­ve­and ne­eded!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jolena felt aw­k­ward on the black ma­re, yet ma­na­ged to stay on the soft sad­dle blan­ket as she ro­de be­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le. The ot­her wo­men ro­de eit­her on pack hor­ses or on tra­vo­is be­hind the hor­ses rid­den by the­ir hus­bands.

After eno­ugh buf­fa­lo we­re kil­led, the­se wo­men wo­uld do most of the but­c­he­ring and tran­s­por­ting of the me­at and hi­des to camp. The wo­men who re­ma­ined in the vil­la­ge wo­uld not be id­le. All day long they wo­uld tan ro­bes, dry me­at, sew moc­ca­sins, and per­form a tho­usand and one ot­her tasks.

Holding se­cu­rely to the re­ins, her kne­es pres­sed in­to the si­des of the hor­se, Jole­na lo­oked aro­und her, on­ce aga­in ad­mi­ring the sharp con­t­rasts of the Blac­k­fo­ot co­untry. The­re we­re far-st­ret­c­hing grassy pra­iri­es, af­for­ding rich pas­tu­ra­ge for the buf­fa­lo; ro­ugh bad lands for the clim­bing mo­un­ta­in she­ep, wo­oded but­tes lo­ved by the mu­le de­er, and tim­be­red ri­ver bot­toms whe­re the whi­te-ta­iled de­er and the elk co­uld brow­se and hi­de.

The Blac­k­fo­ot co­untry was es­pe­ci­al­ly fa­vo­red by the warm Chi­no­ok winds which en­su­red mild win­ters. To­day the wind was so strong that Jole­na had to fight it to stay in her sad­dle. The wind was so brisk, she co­uld fe­el its for­ce aga­inst her body, plas­te­ring her clot­hes aga­inst her. Her ha­ir flut­te­red wildly in the wind, and her che­eks bur­ned as the wind whip­ped hard aga­inst it.

Suddenly in the wind ca­me the strong stench of the buf­fa­lo, and so­on they ca­me in­to sight. The­re se­emed to be hun­d­reds of the black ani­mals with the­ir long, black be­ards, hum­ped backs, and lar­ge, dark eyes, gra­zing la­zily in a fi­eld of tall grass.

Spotted Eag­le whe­eled his hor­se aro­und and stop­ped, ra­ising his hand in the air as a si­lent com­mand for ever­yo­ne el­se to sto­pex­cept for the me­di­ci­ne man, who was to le­ad the buf­fa­lo to the­ir de­ath.

Then ca­me Clo­uds Ma­ke Thun­der's fi­nal pra­yer for a suc­ces­sful buf­fa­lo run to­day.

"Hear me now, Sun!" he cri­ed in a mo­no­to­ne that se­emed to ec­ho back at him. "Lis­ten, abo­ve pe­op­le! Lis­ten, un­der-wa­ter pe­op­le! Al­low us to re­turn ho­me rich with me­at."

When he was thro­ugh, it se­emed to Jole­na that no one bre­at­hed as he bro­ke away from the ot­hers and ro­de ahe­ad of them

to­ward the buf­fa­lo.

Jolena's eyes wi­de­ned, re­ali­zing that the buf­fa­lo sen­sed that dan­ger was ne­ar. So­me ra­ised the­ir short ta­ils and sho­ok them and tos­sed the­ir gre­at he­ads and bel­lo­wed. Ot­hers pa­wed the dirt, snor­ting.

Spotted Eag­le ma­de anot­her si­lent com­mand to his pe­op­le. They fol­lo­wed his le­ad, le­aving the­ir hor­ses, tra­vo­is, and dogs be­hind and rus­hing to­ward the bluff. Pan­ting with exer­ti­on, the pe­op­le mo­ved up­ward, un­til they ca­me to the top of the bluff over which the buf­fa­lo wo­uld tum­b­le to the­ir de­ath.

Jolena wal­ked be­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le, who was well ar­med with his bow and qu­iver of ar­rows. She was glad when they re­ac­hed the top of the bluff and ever­yo­ne qu­ickly hid be­hind the pi­les of rocks and bus­hes.

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