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Rising Moon closed his eyes, choked, then cleared his throat and clung even harder to High Hawk’s hand. “High Hawk . . . now . . . chief . . .” he said. His hand fell away as his eyes locked suddenly in death’s stare.
Everything within High Hawk went cold when he realized that he had just lost his beloved father. And at the hands of a villain everyone detested.
Mole!
He swallowed hard as tears rushed to his eyes. Only now did he realize that his father had named him chief even without knowing that High Hawk had succeeded in both challenges set to him by his father.
It had not mattered to his father whether High Hawk had or had not abducted a white woman.
Yet he had, and as a result, he was in the midst of a dilemma.
But for now, all he could think about was his ahte, and the pain he felt at knowing he would never hear his father’s voice again, or know those moments of laughter when his father forgot the solemnity of being chief and reveled in the joy of having a son.
“Your ahte was shot many times, but he still managed to ride away from the shooter. He was finally stopped when he was shot in the back,” Three Bears said thickly as he dismounted and knelt beside High Hawk. He placed a comforting arm around his best friend’s shoulder. “Being so strong-willed, your ahte lived long enough to tell you that you are now our people’s chief.”
“That coward . . . shot . . . my ahte in the back?” High Hawk said between clenched teeth. A slow rage was building within him.
He knew the killer from other altercations. He was a man who, until now, had always cleverly eluded anyone who would hunt him.
High Hawk reached a gentle hand to his father’s eyes and slowly closed them. “Ahte, he will not get away with this,” he said tightly. “Ahte, I vow to you that he will die!”
Distraught, feeling empty inside, High Hawk lifted his father from the travois and carried him the rest of the way to the village. His people were outside their lodges, waiting.
When High Hawk saw his mother break into a run toward him, he felt as though someone was stabbing away at his heart. On her face he saw the despair she felt over the loss of her beloved husband.
When Blanket Woman reached them, and High Hawk saw the sadness in his mother’s eyes, he felt helpless. He did not know what to do or say to comfort her.
He winced when she started wailing and pulling at her hair. She continued doing this even when High Hawk carried his father’s body into Two Stars’s lodge, where the shaman would pray for him and stand by as Blanket Woman prepared her husband for burial.
Joylynn had heard the commotion and had gone outside.
She went cold when she saw High Hawk coming into the village, carrying his father’s dead body.
Joylynn was touched deeply by the utter sadness she saw in High Hawk’s eyes as he gazed momentarily at her before taking his father into the shaman’s lodge.
She could not help sympathizing with the tormented woman who was now a widow. Although Joylynn had found it hard to like Blanket Woman, she did feel sorry for her in her time of grieving.
She gulped hard when she looked around her and beheld a full village of mourners who were also wailing.
She was aware of drums thumping somewhere in the village in a steady rhythm, adding to the sadness of the moment.
Even the children were no longer laughing. They were silent as they stood beside their mothers, tears streaming down their small, round cheeks.
Joylynn’s heart skipped a beat when High Hawk left the shaman’s lodge alone and came toward her. He stopped and gazed into her eyes, then brushed past her and went inside his tepee.
She wasn’t sure what she should do.
She felt awkward standing there alone while everyone else was now grouped together in their sorrow in the middle of the village near the shaman’s lodge. Joylynn knew she had no choice but to go back inside High Hawk’s tepee.
She crept inside.
She found High Hawk sitting beside the fire, his face ashen and solemn, his red eyes filled with both anger and sadness.
She sat down, then finally found the courage to speak to him. “High Hawk, I am so sorry about your father,” she said softly. “How . . . did . . . he die?”
He turned to her and held her gaze steadily. “He was downed by a heartless man who has been named Mole because of the many ugly moles on his face,” he said thickly. “My ahte was shot many times, even in the back. The other warriors who were with my father were also killed by those who rode with Mole. My men have gone now for our fallen ones’ bodies.”
Joylynn grew cold inside when she heard the name Mole.
