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And so it is in everything
Where power moves.
—Black Elk,
Oglala Sioux Holy Man
A fire burned low as juices from a rabbit dripped into the flames. Night Horse sat inside a cave beside the fire and smiled when an owl hooted from a tree outside. He remembered a time when he was a small child and sat on his mother’s lap in their lodge, listening to his first owl somewhere outside his family tepee. His mother had told him that owls see all . . . that they are the feathered cat of the night. She had said that the mother owl lived with her brood in a nest full of moon-splashed shadows.
He had felt safe in his mother’s arms, and he felt safe now in the cave behind the waterfall, hidden by groves of yellow aspen and frosted leafed cottonwood.
But he knew that down in the dry runs and ravines, he would be easy quarry for those who sought him out.
He had learned long ago to suffer fear and conquer it, but now there was a strange coldness in the pit of his belly when he thought of what the future might hold for him . . . death at the hands of those who hated him!
He listened to the peaceful sound of water falling over rocks. He was carried away to another time when his life was uncomplicated, to a time when he loved his older brother more than life itself.
He had idolized Brave Wolf, for his brother seemed to know everything about everything, especially the goodness of life.
Night Horse gazed into the flames of the fire as he thought about the times when he and his brother had played in this very place.
It was their very own.
They shared it with no one.
As it was Night Horse’s hideout now.
He hunted at night, scaring up rabbits and deer from their sleeping places. He killed them silently with arrows.
So far no one had found him.
But he knew that if his brother decided to search for him, to make him pay for betraying his people, Brave Wolf could find him.
“But you will not do this, will you, big brother?” Night Horse whispered.
He gathered a blanket more securely around his shoulders, thankful that when he had found a horse to steal, it still had its owner’s travel bag on it, in which were supplies that had made Night Horse’s hiding more comfortable.
&nbs
p; Yes, his brother would know where to look for him, but surely he would see no reason to. Brave Wolf had disowned Night Horse when his younger brother joined Custer.
Although Night Horse knew that Brave Wolf despised him now, because of the love they had shared as children he would surely not send anyone up into these mountains to take him captive, or to kill him.
“I feel safe enough,” Night Horse said, shivering as the cold air crept beneath his blanket.
Night Horse had had a lot of time to think about things since he had come to this place of his childhood.
He ached to see his mother.
He ached to see Dancing Butterfly, the only woman he had ever, or ever would, love. He knew that she must hate him now and surely would even turn her back to him if he could ever go home again. He would not blame her. It had been he who had left her behind, choosing instead to be a scout for whites. Oh, how foolish he had been. He loved her. He would always love her!
He had also thought often of his ahte, Chief Sharp Arrow, about what a valiant, courageous leader he had been. His father had died at the hands of Ute renegades four moons ago, leaving the road clear for Brave Wolf to be chief.
Night Horse was proud of his chieftain brother and missed him with every beat of his heart.
He now knew that he had been wrong to align himself with whites.
By having done so he had lost everything that was truly valuable and precious to him . . . his family’s love . . . his people!
