Forever Ecstasy

Book 8: Gray Eagle Series

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

SAVAGE ECSTATSY. . . WHISPERED KISSES. . .FOLLOW THE WIND These are just a few of the books that have made Janelle Taylor such a beloved and bestselling author of historical romance. And her sweeping tales of Gray Eagle's love for the beautiful Alisha, and the passion-filled adventures of their descendants are among her most unforgettable novels. Now, at last, the legend continues. . . Forever Ecstasy Morning Star knew it was her duty as an Oglala princess to join with a warrior of her tribe. After all, she was the granddaughter of the revered Gray Eagle, and her father was the great Chief Sun Cloud. But the moment she gazed into the sky-blue eyes if Joseph Lawrence, she realized he was fated to be in her life-circle. For he was the man of legend, the white man who would lead her tribe to peace. He was also the lover who would stir her soul with forbidden desires. Together they would know a great destiny . . .and an everlasting love!

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 488

Sample

Dakota Territory, 1831

“As the sun last slept, Grandfather gave me a vision,” Standing Tree told the men gathered in the meeting lodge at their winter camp in the Black Hills. “Before I speak it, let us prepare ourselves.”

The Oglala shaman lifted the sacred catlinite pipe and fingered the smooth red bowl on a four-foot stem that had ceremonial beads and feathers attached at the joining point. His wrinkled fingers packed tobacco inside it, then took a burning stick from the fire and lit the fragrant contents. Standing Tree raised the pipe upward to honor Wakantanka—the Great Spirit—and downward to honor Makakin—Mother Earth. Next, he saluted each of the four directions: the east to summon enlightenment and peace, the south where warmth was born, the west which brought rain, and the north which offered fortitude. “As I share your breath, Grandfather, open my heart and mind to receive and accept your sacred message,” he invoked. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, held it there for a moment, then exhaled curls of smoke that went heavenward. He passed the pipe to the man at his right, the Oglala chief, Sun Cloud.

Strong hands accepted the sacred item. The supplication to the Great Spirit was repeated. Then the pipe was passed to the next man, to continue around the group until all participants had done the ritual four times. During this reverent ceremony, no one talked and all meditated.

Sun Cloud gazed at the buffalo skull, weathered and bleached by Wi—the sun—and Makajou—the rain, that was lying on the mat before the shaman in a place of honor. It was painted with the colors and symbols of nature, and was stuffed with a mixture of sweet grasses. The buffalo was viewed by Plains Indians as the most powerful animal of the Great Spirit’s creation—a generous and clever gift to His children to provide them with food, shelter, clothing, tools, and medicine.

Sun Cloud shifted his gaze to the Medicine Wheel that was mounted on a tall cottonwood post, the same tree chosen for the Sun Dance ritual. The wheel’s surface was divided by four bars which represented the four directions: west for danger, north for life, east for knowledge, and south for quiet: the influences and forces of life. Made of brain-tanned hide stretched taut over a willow hoop, its roundness told of their belief in the Circle of Life: Canhdeska Wakan. Hair, heart-beads, fur, and feathers decorated it. Another buffalo skull was attached to its center to signify Lakol wicho’an, the traditional way of life, and Pte Oyate, the spiritual life. All spokes radiated toward the center—the heart and meaning of life, which was total harmony with one’s self and with nature. That skull was painted white to express purity. A Hoop of Life hung beneath the Medicine Wheel.

The Hoop of Life symbolized all stages of man’s existence: the never-ending circle of life from birth, to maturity, to old age, to death, then rebirth in the Spirit World. Four bars and four feathers were displayed on its surface for the four virtues of wisdom, courage, constancy, and generosity. The four directions to which it pointed were the same as those of the Medicine Wheel. Here, too, the four points radiated toward the center for total harmony. The chief repeated the pipe ritual a fourth time.

A fire glowed in the center of the large tepee. Its undulating flames created shadows against the buffalo-hide wall which seemed to breathe with a spiritual life of their own. A flap was opened at the top to allow smoke to escape, but it did not release the fire’s heat. It was cold outside the meeting lodge on the moonless night. The floor was the earth upon which the Indians lived. The men sat on buffalo mats, huddled in several circles around the blaze, their bodies also giving warmth to each other.

The only sounds heard were the soft breathing of the men, the invocation words, and the crackling of burning wood. No wind howled around the tepee. No dog barked. No child cried. No horse neighed. It was as if all creatures and forces of nature sensed and honored the gravity of this moment.

Many smells filled the air: the sweetness of cherrywood sticks and special grasses in the fire, the animal-skin mats upon which they sat and the hide walls which surrounded them, the fragrant tobacco in the pipe, the dirt beneath them, and the grease—human and animal—upon their bodies for protection against winter’s chill. No man seemed to feel the stinging of smoke in his eyes or mind the familiar odors. All were too ensnared by suspense and a feeling of oneness.

The Oglala chief, council members, and high-ranking warriors were eager for their shaman to reveal his vision. Standing Tree commanded their respect, awe, and loyalty. He was a man of wisdom, mystical insight, healing skills, and “powerful magic.” All remained still and silent as the spiritual leader of their tribe rose to enlighten them.

“Grandfather spoke to me in a sacred vision while I slept,” he began. “We have been at peace with the white-eyes for many winters, a peace that came from the loss of our great leader, Gray Eagle, father of Chief Sun Cloud. But Grandfather warned that a season of bitter conflicts and greed will destroy that peace. The Great Mystery showed me two men. One’s face was hidden from my eyes, but Grandfather said he carries Oglala blood. A chief’s bonnet lay at his feet, torn from his head by evil. In the winters to come, Grandfather will make his heart grow restless. He will call the lost warrior back to the land of his people to share our destiny.” The shaman was quiet.

Chief Sun Cloud pondered the holy man’s words. Bright Arrow—his brother—had been driven away by evil, but had returned. Powchutu—his father’s brother—had been driven away by evil, too, but had returned. Both were dead now. “Your words confuse me, Wise One,” he said. “If he is of our blood and tribe, why do we not know of him? What evil drove him from our people? When was the past moon that witnessed such a black deed?”

“I do not know,” the sixty-year-old man answered. “His face and markings were not clear. We will know his words are true when he speaks them to us. When white trappers and traders came to our land, we met them as friends. We let them trap our streams and hunt in our forests. We made truce and trade with them. What they have seen and done here calls other white-eyes to our lands; many of them will be evil and dangerous. A dark moon in the winters to come will flood our land with white-eyes, and war will thunder as a violent storm across it.”

“Why would the soldiers attack?” the chief reasoned. “Since my Grandfather’s time, we let the whites roam our lands and draw maps of our hills and valleys, our forests, plains, and rivers. We let trappers and traders build posts to sell goods to whites and to Indians. We let soldiers cut trees and build forts so we could observe them and learn their ways. When battles came between our two peoples, it was the whites’ doings. They asked for treaties, and we gave them. Eleven winters past we made a new truce with them. The one called Derek Sturgis took the paper I signed to their Great White Chief Monroe. The fort was abandoned, and the soldiers left our territory. As promised, they have not returned to threaten us. When Colonel Leavenworth came with troops eight winters past to seek our help to defeat the Arikaras, we gave it; they thanked us, presented us with gifts, and rode away.” Sun Cloud kept his probing gaze on the older man.

“Such good things will not halt what is to come, my chief. Trouble will be reborn, but its life will be cut short by the warrior Grandfather sends to us. A long peace will follow—”

Smiles, nods, and murmurs of relief took place before Standing Tree could finish his sentence. They ceased when he continued. “But more white-eyes will journey here in great numbers. Their hungers will bring even darker and bloodier suns. They will crave all Grandfather has given to us: our lands, our animals, our rocks and trees, our grasses, our lives, our honors, and our freedom. They can have none of those sacred gifts unless they destroy us. Many seasons after I begin my walk at Grandfather’s side, they will try to do so, and my people will resist. The white-eyes will come to fear and do battle with the Dakota Nation as they do with no other. The Tetons will lead all tribes of the Seven Council Fires and our allies in the last battle for survival. Grandfather did not reveal the final victor to me.”

Sun Cloud was angered by this news. “We trusted the White Chief, and we kept our word. Why can he not honor his? Must we drive all whites from our land and stop others from coming? Will not their number and strength grow faster and stronger than the grasses upon our plains?”

“We cannot keep them away until time is no more. Feed upon the seasons of peace ahead, for many of starving will come. The first trouble will bring the two men that Grandfather revealed to me in my sacred vision.”

“How can this be?” Sun Cloud asked. “My brother was slain in battle with the Crow this summer past. Bright Arrow has no sons to challenge me. He has no grandsons who match your words. My memory knows of no man who lost the chief’s bonnet and was driven away. If it was long ago, how can a distant evil hold such power? Who seeks my rank?”

“My vision did not say he wants to take the chief’s bonnet from Sun Cloud. It said he was denied his rank, land, and people and that Grandfather will draw him to us for help in a time of great danger.”

Sun Cloud’s heart pounded inside the bronzed flesh of his broad chest, scarred by the Sun Dance ritual. “My son is ten winters old. Do you speak of him? Will he be taken from us, but returned one moon?”

“I do not know. His face was kept hidden from me. When the moon comes, Grandfather will reveal all to me. I will speak His words to you.”

“What of the other man, Wise One?” a council member asked.

“He is a white-eye who will come to help us defeat our enemies. He is unlike other white-eyes. He will prove himself worthy to become our blood brother. His words and ways will be hard to accept and obey, but we must do so to survive. The white-eyes will not honor the treaty we signed. After many snows have covered Mother Earth with their white blankets, our land will be darkened by dangers. The blood of many, Indian and white, will soak into Mother Earth. Peace lies within the grasp of the white-eye whose hair blazes as the sun and in whose eyes the blue of sky lives. His heart will side with us. Many foes, Indian and white, will try to defeat him. An Oglala maiden will be chosen to ride with him, and she will become a skilled warrior at his side. She will guard his life and help defeat foes.”

“Why does Grandfather use a white man?” another elder asked.

“I do not know. But I do know his eyes are as blue and calm at the sky when he will appear. His voice will blow as a strong wind one moon and as a gentle breeze on another. His attacks will beat as heavy rain upon our foes. His glory will shine as brightly as the glowing ball in the heaven where the spirits live. His anger at those who threaten us and betray us will rumble as loud thunder. As with snow in our sacred hills, his heart and mind are pure. He will come when Grandfather says the time is here. The maiden who is chosen to battle with him will know a great destiny; her legend will speak of She-Who-Rode-With-The-Sky-Warrior.”

“Who is this maiden, Wise One? Why must a female ride with a white warrior to defeat our enemies?” A third man asked the question in all their hearts.

“I do not know.”

During the ensuing silence, Sun Cloud glanced at the pictorial history of his Red Heart Band that was painted upon a tanned buffalo hide that hung on the lodge’s wall. It recorded the events that had taken place since the birth of his grandfather, Chief Running Wolf. It told of past conflicts with whites and with enemy tribes. Sun Cloud dreaded the scenes that would be added to it one day. His dark eyes scanned the faces of his warriors and tribal leaders. He wondered who would live to see those ominous times. The thirty-four-year-old chief wondered if he would still be their leader then. “When will this black sun come?” he asked in a grave tone, believing the shaman’s medicine powerful and his counsel wise.

“I do not know,” Standing Tree said once more. “But not for many, many winters.” He took a seat cross-legged on a buffalo hide.

Sun Cloud did not understand the meaning of this strange and distant vision. Yet he trusted and believed the mystical shaman and the Great Spirit. His father, the legendary Gray Eagle, was with Wakantanka; as was his mother, Alisha Williams, a white captive whom his father had loved and married. Bright Arrow and his wife had joined their parents last summer. Sun Cloud felt it was good and merciful when the Great Spirit called mates to His side on the same sun, as it had been with his parents and his brother. He knew it must be hard and lonely to live without the love of your heart.

Sun Cloud heard the others leaving the meeting lodge while he was deep in thought. Except for the Crow, Shoshone, and Pawnee, peace had ruled their land since the treaty with Sturgis in 1820. That truce had followed the ambush of his father and a painful struggle with his brother over the chiefs bonnet. He had won that honor and duty and won the hand of Singing Wind. Years of joy, success, and love had ensued.

Now it was nearing time to begin his son’s warrior training, and he prayed the man in Standing Tree’s vision was not his only child. Singing Wind, his beloved wife, would bear another child when summer came. Perhaps it would be another son. No matter, a second child at last would bring much pride and happiness to his heart. He would make certain there was no confusion or conflict over which child would follow him as chief, as there had been with his brother eleven summers ago.

The Red Heart chief of the Oglala/Teton branch of the Dakota Nation got to his feet. He flexed his muscular body and told himself that if dark moons were ahead, he must enjoy all the bright ones until then. A man’s destiny could not be changed; his Life-Circle was drawn by the Great Spirit before his birth. There was no need to worry over distant threats. Grandfather would always be there to guide, protect, and love His people.

A hungry smile softened his handsome features. Sun Cloud headed for his tepee and his wife, who would chase away the night’s chill with fiery passion. Until Grandfather sent Sky Warrior to them, he would forget the perilous times ahead. For the present, all the chief wanted to think about were his wife, his young son, and the child Singing Wind carried.

May 1851

“Hello in camp! Can I join you for coffee and rest?” Joe called out before approaching the camp. It was a precaution he had quickly learned to take in this wild Dakota territory to avoid getting shot by accident.

“Come on in,” a voice replied, “but take it slow and easy.”

Joe dismounted and secured his reins to a bush. He didn’t unsaddle the animal, since he always liked to be prepared for a quick escape. It was chilly tonight. He removed his leather riding gloves and stuffed them into his saddlebag, but kept on the thin wool jacket he had donned a mile back.

Joe headed through the wooded location toward a fire near the riverbank. As he passed two wagons, he saw a beautiful Indian girl secured to one of the wheels. Her arms were extended, her wrists tied to the spokes, and her legs were bound at the ankles. He was intrigued by her presence, but ignored her for now. He had other matters on his troubled mind.

Not far away, he noticed, eight horses for pulling the two wagons were tethered and grazing. An abundance of trees, with the river eastward, had forced the men to leave those wagons thirty feet from their waterside camp. Yet the spacings of oaks and cottonwoods and a three-fourths waxing moon made the female prisoner visible to her captors.

Joe’s azure gaze studied each of the three men as he approached them, just as they were eyeing him with interest. The condition of the camp—the large amount of coals, the trampled ground, more than a few hours’ smell of manure, and the many items scattered about— told him it was several days’ old. When he’d found their trail, he had known the wagons were a few days beyond him. He hoped he wasn’t wasting valuable time and energy on what could be an impulsive chase. “Thanks,” he answered the man. “I was getting tired, sore, and hungry. This area is mighty deserted. I’m glad I happened up on you men. Mind if I share your coffee and beans? My last meal was a long way back.”

“Help yourself, but ain’t you out late tonight, stranger?” a barrel-chested man remarked. He gestured for the new arrival to sit on the ground.

As Joe poured himself some steaming coffee and set the tin cup on the grass beside him, he explained, “I was about to make camp earlier when several Indians chose the same clearing I had. I thought it best to let them have first choice,” Joe jested with a wry grin. “It doesn’t take long in this wild territory to learn you don’t want to meet up with them when you’re alone.”

“What tribe was they?” the youngest man asked.

Joe glanced at the towhead with dark-blue eyes as he guilefully remarked, “Indians are Indians, aren’t they?” He took in details: the man was just under twenty and had a long knife scar on his left cheek.

“Nope” came the reply. “Some are friendlies; others, real mean.”

“Friendlies, hell. They’re all blood-thirsty savages. Ain’t worth the salt it’d take to cure ’em fur dog meat. Only good ones are on your payroll or dead,” the third man refuted with a cold chuckle, then sipped his whiskey.

Joe didn’t like these crude men. The third one was tall and slender, with a pockmarked face and dirty hands wrapped around the bottle he was nursing. He appeared to be about thirty. His brown hair was as filthy as his clothes, and his hazel eyes had an emotionless expression that put Joseph Lawrence, Jr., on guard. His father’s friend Stede Gaston had told him to never trust a man whose eyes stay frozen when he smiles. He had found that warning to be accurate.

Joe stopped dishing up beans to feign surprise. “Indians work for whites?” he asked. “I thought they were independent free-roaming men who lived only to hunt and raid, and that they made their women do all the work.”

“If ya give enough trinkets, they’ll do most any chore fur ya.”

The burly man scowled and spat on the ground. “What you work too much is your jaws, Clem. Put up that fire water; you’ve had enough. What are you doing in these parts?” he asked the stranger.

To be convincing, Joe used half-truths. “My father’s in the shipping business, and I got tired of making voyages for him,” he said. “I hated being a sailor. Sea trips aren’t any fun when you spend most of your time heaving your meals over the rails. I heard it was exciting and challenging out here, so I decided to leave dull Virginia and seek a few adventures.”

Joe smiled to relax the wary man with his scraggly beard and muddy brown hair that flowed over his broad shoulders. It looked as if that tangled mane hadn’t seen a comb or brush in ages, and it didn’t take a keen observer to realize that their clothes hadn’t seen a washpot in weeks. It was apparent these rough characters cared nothing about their appearances. “A man who lacks pride in himself usually lacks morals and a conscience,” his father had told him, “so sail clear of him, son. Even poor folk, if they’re decent and honest, keep themselves clean and neat.” That wise remembrance told him to be vigilant. “My name’s Joe Lawrence,” he introduced himself. “As I said, I’m glad I came upon you tonight. I’ll admit I was getting a little nervous out here alone. Who are you?”

“I’m Zeke,” the leader replied, watchful of the newcomer. “That’s Clem.” He nodded to the disobedient man who had the bottle to his lips once more. “And that’s Farley.” He named the youngest of the group.

No last names were supplied, and Joe wondered if there was a special reason. He also noted that Zeke had silenced Clem to prevent him from revealing any facts the leery man wanted kept secret. The wariness aroused Joe’s interest as much as the contents of those wagons. Between bites he made small talk to calm them while he tried to entice slips of the tongue. “Where’s the best place to look for work in this area?”

“What kind of job you got in mind?” Zeke asked, lazing against a tree.

“Haven’t thought much about that, but I’m not joining the cavalry. I don’t want to trade one boss for another one. If I didn’t like soldiering, I wouldn’t want the Army hunting me down as a deserter. Since I don’t know this territory, scouting is out. Besides, I don’t care to go tangling with hostiles every other day or two. When I get ready to return home, I want to take my hair with me,” he said with a chuckle. “From what I’ve read and heard, Indians like to take scalps as trophies, especially blond ones.”

“You kin bet your boots an’ pants they do,” Farley concurred. He stroked the lengthy knife scar on his boyish face and frowned.

Joe caught the hint. “I’m not much of a gambler, so I’ll take your word, friend. Where are you men heading? Maybe I can tag along for safety, if you don’t mind.” Joe took a few more bites of beans, then washed them down with strong coffee. Neither tasted good; his appetite was lagging, but he pretended to enjoy the scanty meal and company.

“Sorry, Lawrence, but we’re heading for a private camp.”

Joe focused his attention on the leader. “No jobs available there?”

“The boss don’t like to hire strangers or greenhorns.”

“I learn fast and follow orders good,” Joe told him, then set aside the tin plate and empty cup. “Most people say I’m easy to get along with, even on my bad days. I’d be grateful for help. I’ll give you a cut of my salary for a while to get me hired on and to teach me my way around these parts.”

Zeke tossed the two dishes and spoon into a pile with other dirty ones. “That’s a tempting offer, Lawrence, but no. Strangers are too nosy, and greenhorns are too dangerous. Both cause too much trouble.”

“Iffen he’s good with fightin’ and shootin’, Zeke, the boss might want him. We kin always use a skilled—”

“Nope. You know the boss’s orders, Farley. If I was you, Lawrence, I’d ride to Fort Tabor where the Missouri joins the White River or to Pratte’s Trading Post at Pierre. Men looking for work do best there.” Zeke’s distrustful gaze roved Joe as he talked. “You don’t appear a man to take to trapping or trading. If you don’t want to join the Army or do scouting, best I can think of is guarding places or hauling goods.”

Joe glanced at the two wagons thirty feet away. He knew they were loaded because of the deep ruts the wheels had made, the ones he had located and followed. He tried not to look at the female prisoner who was watching all four men with her dark eyes. The blond-haired man presumed she must be cold so far from the fire and without a blanket or long sleeves. But for now he had to ignore her plight. Later he would decide what to do about her. He looked back at Zeke and casually inquired, “That what you do, transport supplies?”

Zeke kept his gaze locked onto Joe’s face. “Not exactly.”

Joe sensed the man’s caution and let the touchy subject drop. He noticed how Zeke’s eyes stayed on him as tight as a rope on a capstan. The leader looked tense, and his dirty fingers kept drumming on one thigh.

“If you came from Virginny,” Zeke asked. “Why didn’t you stop at Fort Tabor or at Lookout? Or head upriver to Pierre? What kind of work you expect to find in a wilderness? This area’s a long way from civilization.”

To calm the still edgy leader, Joe decided to start speaking more like these men and drop the correct English that he’d been taught during his years of schooling. “I was ridin’ for Benton near the headwaters of the Missouri,” he fabricated. “I got a friend there who’s been beggin’ me to join him. He hired on with the American Fur Company in ’47. Been with them ever since. I figured I’d see more of this wild territory if I rode across country, rather than take a boat the long route by water. I heard the Missouri gets mighty treacherous in places, and I ain’t one to challenge crazy water much. I had my fill of that workin’ for my father back East.”

“Maybe I know your friend. I’ve traded with lots of trappers.”

“Ever met Ben Murphy? About forty—short, husky, black hair.”

“Nope. I thought I knew all those American Fur boys.”

“Ben’s quiet. He usually keeps to himself. We trapped together back South. He taught me most of what I know. When we’d take off huntin’ or trappin’, my father always sent somebody to fetch me home if we didn’t return in a month or two. He was determined I was going to learn his shippin’ business and take it over one day. I figured if I joined Ben out here, I’d be too far away for Old Joe to find me and drag me home again. I guess I got too used to being on my own at school, and I didn’t take to Old Joe’s runnin’ my life from dawn to dusk like he did his company.”

“So why you looking for a job in these parts if it’s to Benton you’re heading?” Zeke asked. When an owl hooted, he glanced in that direction, his nerves obviously on edge.

“I been ridin’ for weeks and my tail’s tryin’ to grow to the saddle.” Joe answered. “I need a rest. It’s a long way to Benton. Frankly, I ain’t lookin’ forward to crossin’ Crow Territory. It drained me to come this far through Sioux land.”

“Don’t let them hear you call ’em Sioux,” Zeke warned, “or they’ll lift your hair for sure. That’s a chopped-off French word meaning ‘treacherous snake.’ They call themselves Dakotas, ‘friends.’ Best remember that.”

“Are they?”

“Are they what?” Zeke asked, confused.

“Friends, friendly,” Joe hinted as a reminder.

“Sioux are about the lowest and meanest savages alive.” Zeke spat again, as if clearing his mouth of a foul taste.

“You’re working this area and you still have your scalp. You got a truce with them?”

“Sioux don’t make no truces with whites, but they’ll leave you be if they think you’re smarter and stronger than them. I’ve beaten some of their best warriors, so the others avoid tangling with me.”

“Sounds like you’re the right man to join up with in this area.”

“I don’t need nobody else to tend or to slow me down. Clem and Farley do more than enough of both. You’ll do better to head for Crow Territory than hang around in Sioux.”

“Why is that, Zeke? Don’t they hate whites, too?”

“Not like the Sioux. Don’t show no fear of them when you’re alone, and Crow’ll let you pass. One of their prophets told them his vision said not to war with whites. All Injuns are big believers in them peyote dreams they call visions, but braves will still ambush and rob you if you act scared.”

“Hell, Zeke! Most of ’em are cowards and beggars. They’d rather have a trinket ’an fight a real man for his scalp,” Clem said between chuckles.

Zeke glared at his companion before giving his advice to Joe. “If you ain’t heading on to Benton at first light, you best ride east to one of the trading posts on the river. For a few dollars you can catch a boat to join your friend. Trappers who don’t work for companies mostly come to sell their winter catches before long. They spend a month or so jawing, drinking, whoring, and gambling. Then they resupply and go back to their trapping grounds. River’s the safest way to get there from here. It’s eastward. We’re heading southwest. You don’t need to ride in that direction.”

Joe knew the man was lying. The trail he’d followed for days was heading northwestward and Crow Territory and Benton were both in that direction! Zeke’s careless mistake and odd behavior told Joe he’d been smart to follow his gut instinct. But it was clear that the ruffian was adamant about them parting ways at sunrise. When the others remained silent, Joe yawned and flexed his shoulders. “I wish I could change your mind, Zeke, but I understand.” “I’ll get my gun and help keep guard tonight,” he offered. “I don’t want any Indians sneaking into camp while we’re asleep.”

“No need,” Zeke said. “We take two-hour shifts each, even when it seems safe. We’ve done scouted the area. The Sioux are still holed up in their winter camps south of here, and it’s a good ways to Crow Territory. You can rest easy tonight, then be on your way at dawn.”

Joe smiled, then asked Clem, “You got another bottle of that good whiskey I can buy? It’s been a dusty and tiring ride today.”

Before Clem or Zeke could reply, Farley said, “Plenty, iffen you got—”

“No!” the hefty leader interrupted and came to his feet. “The way Clem’s been slopping down our supply like a bottomless pig, it’s about gone, except for that bottle I got in my gear. You’re welcome to a swig or two of it, Lawrence. I’ll fetch it. You stay here with the boys.”

Joe saw how the large man got to his feet with ease and agility, then left the smoky fire to head for the front wagon. With Zeke gone, maybe he could get answers to the beautiful mystery nearby, he thought. “One of you having trouble with your squaw?” Joe inquired in a genial tone as he nodded to the captive some thirty feet away at the second wagon. The moon’s angle and tall trees now placed the confining wagon and young female in almost obscuring shadows, but Joseph Lawrence had a mental picture of her that would never vanish.

The half-inebriated Clem glanced in the beauty’s direction, chuckled, and revealed, “We’s taking her to the boss. Caught her whilst we wuz scouting. He likes ’em young, full of spirit and fight. She oughta last a few weeks, maybe months if he’s more careful this time. He uses ’em up fast. Just ’twixt us, Joe, I’d like a bite of her flesh meself. Maybe we can talk—”

“Shut up, you drunken fool,” Zeke warned, his eyes narrowing as he passed Joe the half-empty bottle. “Don’t pay Clem no mind,” he said. “His brain’s sour mash by now. He’s teasing you. But if he don’t stop drinking and lying so much, I’m gonna get rid of him. He knows I traded for her in a Crow camp yesterday. You can see she didn’t care much for being sold by her pappy. She’ll settle down soon and make me a good squaw.”

Joe noticed the bite mark on Zeke’s hand that he rubbed as he lied. The woman presented Joe with a difficult decision: rescue her and lose this contact, or ignore her imminent fate so he could try to stay with these offensive men. With Zeke so mad at Clem, maybe he could persuade the leader to let him join them. If he pulled off that feat and they reached their destination, he’d never be able to free her. Yet if these men were connected to the murderous villain he was after… “She’s beautiful, Zeke I’m sure a strong man like you will have her tamed fast. I’ve always heard that a woman with fire is more fun than one who’s quiet and cowardly. I’d say you got a good deal, a real challenge.” He sipped whiskey and deliberated which course to sail tonight.

The Oglala maiden was awake and alert, and she tried to ignore the chill on her flesh. Morning Star hated the men who had taken her prisoner and the dark fate they had in mind for her. And now there were four to fight against. Although she pretended not to understand their words, her parents had taught her English. Years ago she had practiced that skill with any light-skinned visitor who had come to their camp. Those days were gone because of the recent trouble between the two cultures. Her father had signed a treaty with the palefaces in 1820, and peace had ensued for years. But during the past two summers, sporadic fights and false charges had marred that truce.

A new breed of encroachers seemed determined to war with them now, a breed that was to provoke even more hatred and trouble between the Crow and the Oglalas. Soon her people expected more conflicts, violence, and false accusations. Yet she could not forget that her family and tribe had befriended some lightskins. Nor could she forget that her grandmother and aunt were of white blood, or that she carried a trace of it. She had concluded long ago that not all palefaces were bad. It was unfair and wrong to judge an entire race by the evil doings of some of its members, as most whites did with Indians.

This past winter had been tranquil. In fact, she had known mostly peace since her birth and had not witnessed the new troubles, so a fierce hatred for all whites did not exist in her heart. She wanted to study them and discover why there were such hostilities and differences between them. Only by learning from a problem could it be resolved, and bloodshed be prevented. Yet her captors seemed to be proving that her brother’s ominous words about most palefaces were true.

Morning Star prayed that the Indians the last man had mentioned earlier were from her travel party and not Crow warriors arriving early. The Crow were fierce enemies of her people, the Dakotas, and had been for generations. If she were recognized as the daughter of Oglala Chief Sun Cloud, the Bird People would demand to buy her as a slave. She could imagine the horrors—or even death—she would endure at their hands. Yet she must not lose hope and courage. She must not lose her wits. She had to remain ready to seize any opening. When that glorious moment came, she wanted to flee with as much information as she could. She forced herself to concentrate on the men’s conversation.

The last man’s words revealed he was new to her land. He seemed different from her cold and mean captors. She sensed that the big foe did not trust the handsome stranger. Morning Star decided that the sunny-haired man would be lucky to get away from the others alive.

Sun Cloud’s daughter tried to ignore Joe, as she needed to concentrate on the others and their plans. She wished she knew who was the “Boss” they had mentioned several times within her hearing and wished they would reveal more. She knew there were weapons inside the wagons for the Bird People to use against her tribe. She needed to discover why these men wanted to create an inter-tribal war.

Morning Star watched them drink and talk. She knew the stranger had noticed her but was pretending she did not exist. Even if he were a good man, she could not cry out for his help. He was as outnumbered as she; he was also white, and that probably made him a foe.

She closed her eyes and leaned her weary head against a spoke of the wagon. She was thirsty and hungry; the men were punishing her with the denial of food and water for battling them, especially the big one. Several times he had shaken her, slapped her, and shouted of horrible things he would do to her if she weren’t a gift for his boss. Then he had laughed—an evil sound—and said she would soon wish he were her owner instead of the other man! Despite her fear, she had pretended not to understand his threats.

The wind’s coolness and strength increased and blew over her flesh, causing her to tremble. She wished she had been given a blanket to ward off the night’s chill, but told herself that her comfort wasn’t the most important thing at this time, even if she were miserable. Her outstretched arms ached, and her tightly bound wrists caused her fingers to tingle and lose feeling. The hub of the wagon pressed into her back and made it beg for relief. Her buttocks were sore and numb from being confined to the same awkward position for hours. It was a struggle to accept such torments in silence, to resist fatigue, and to quell her fears. She prayed her party had not been misled by the false trail her captors had set for them. If so, her world could be lost forever. Once she was enslaved and used, even if she escaped, how could she return to her tribe without her honor?

“You can toss down your bedroll and sleep here,” the Oglala maiden heard the big man say to Joe. “Best get an early start tomorrow; you got a ways to ride.” She heard Joe excuse himself and saw him vanish into the denser trees and bushes to the right of the campfire. The other men huddled and whispered. A bad sign, she decided. No doubt they were—

Morning Star perceived someone’s stealthy approach behind her under the wagon. The scent was unfamiliar. Her heart rate increased and she quivered in suspense.

Joseph Lawrence, Jr., could not allow an innocent girl to suffer the terrible fate that Clem had mentioned before Zeke had silenced him. If he could free her without getting caught, he would continue his deceitful attempt to join up with the suspicious men. If not…

Joe had removed his jacket to keep from putting telltale stains on it. He used his elbows and feet to wriggle to the female. He hoped the shadows and her pinioned body would conceal him. He lifted himself to his knees and leaned close to her head. “I hope you understand me, woman, because I don’t have much time,” he whispered. “I’m a friend, but those men over there are real bad. I’m going to cut you free, but keep still and quiet until I get back to the fire and distract them. I’ll leave my knife beside you. When I have their attention, free your legs, then sneak away. If you understand what I’m saying, nod your head.”

Morning Star did not know all of the words he used, but she grasped his meaning. Though she worried that the man’s strange behavior was a trick to make her expose herself, something within her said to trust him. She gathered her courage and nodded.

“That’s a relief,” Joe murmured. With caution, he sliced through the rope at one wrist, then the other. As ordered, the female didn’t move from her strained position. He slid his knife to her right side. “Make sure they aren’t looking when you free your legs. Hide until they stop searching for you. I’ll get back to the campfire to spy on them. Good luck.”

Joe worked his way from beneath the wagon and retrieved his jacket. After brushing the debris from his shirt and trousers, he slipped on the jacket and sneaked into the concealing trees. So far his plan was a success, but he remained guarded. He began to whistle as he walked along the riverbank to camp. He entered the clearing with his shirttail hanging out, as if he had relieved himself and hadn’t straightened his clothing. The other men were bedding down, their weapons nearby. Joe wondered why no guard was being posted, as Zeke had talked about earlier. He wondered if it had been a ruse to keep him rifleless. He came to full alert and decided that perhaps he should get away while he could, as soon as the girl was safe. To stall for time and conceal his wariness, he remarked, “That coffee and whiskey ran through me fast. I’d sure love a bath if that water wasn’t so cold. I’ll fetch my bedroll and join you. I’ll be—”

Clem looked toward the lovely reason why he was in trouble tonight. His shout cut off Joe’s sentence. “That Injun gal’s escaping, Zeke!”

All eyes riveted to the wagon and the female, who was leaning forward and cutting the bonds on her ankles. She glanced up, then hurried back to work on the rope. Zeke and Farley tossed aside their covers and leapt to their feet to halt her. The drunken Clem moved slower. The three men hesitated only long enough to glance about for warriors, as somebody had obviously aided her escape attempt. They saw and heard none.

Morning Star almost panicked when the alarm was given, as she was so close to freedom. Her heart beat as a kettle drum. With haste and shaky fingers, she severed her ankle bonds. Keeping the knife, she jumped to her feet and dashed toward the thick treeline.

Zeke aimed his rifle in her direction. Instinctively Joe lunged at the big man and thwarted his intention, causing the weapon to discharge upward in a loud roar. “You can’t shoot a woman!” he shouted. “Let her go!”

As soon as she was concealed by trees and darkness, Morning Star halted to observe the perilous scene left behind. She saw Joe arguing with Zeke and blocking another shot at her. The big man was clearly furious. As Zeke tried to fling Joe aside to fire again, Farley halted his pursuit of her and attacked Joe. With a speed and skill that impressed her, Joe struck him a stunning blow across the jaw that sent him backward.

“You’ll die for that, Injun lover!” Zeke shouted. “You helped her!”

The sunny-haired man whirled to meet Zeke’s assault. Zeke’s blow to Joe’s stomach doubled him over for a moment. Morning Star knew her rescuer was in trouble, but how could she help without a weapon? What could a knife do against powerful guns? How she wished she had a bow and arrows or a lance. Her head screamed for her to flee, but her heart and feet refused to obey that cowardly and selfish command. She lingered and watched with wide eyes.

Joe yanked his head aside before the burly man could bring down his clenched hands on his neck, then Joe rammed Zeke’s stomach, sending him to the ground in a noisy fall.

Farley recovered enough to rejoin the fight. Joe knew he had to disable the youngest man fast, as Zeke, cursing, was getting to his feet and Clem was fetching his gun. Joe lifted his knee and sent it with force into Farley’s groin. The towhead screamed in pain, dropped to his knees, then rolled on the grass as he cupped the injured area and groaned.

Morning Star knew she must go back and help Joe. The stranger had risked his life to free her, so she couldn’t leave him to battle three wicked men. Her gentle heart and conscience spurred her into motion.

From the corner of his eye, Joe saw the Indian maiden using a sturdy limb to club Clem unconscious. He was astonished that she had returned to help him but happy she was repaying his kindness to her. Knowing he had only Zeke to conquer, Joe confronted the large man with renewed energy and resolve. He soon learned that Zeke was hard at best.

The two men struggled for the upper hand. The girl used her club to land a hard blow on Zeke’s back. The big man then turned and shoved her to the earth.

“Run!” Joe yelled to her as he slammed his lowered shoulder into Zeke’s stomach. He was glad to see she obeyed, but, distracted for that instant, Zeke sent him tumbling to the ground with a fisted jab to his chest that claimed his breath for a short time. When he saw the leader stalking toward him with a kill-gleam in his eyes, Joe knew he had to recover and move fast.

Morning Star raced to the first wagon and retrieved her bundle from where she had seen the large man toss it. She hurried to the men’s horses and freed them. She loosened the reins to her mount, then went for Joe’s.

The sunny-haired man scrambled to his feet just in time to avoid Zeke’s next attack. The two men circled each other, then Zeke landed a blow to the side of Joe’s head, almost stunning him. Joe fell to the earth, entangled his legs with his opponent’s, and twisted his body. The movement caused Zeke to trip and fall hard.

“U wo!” The girl on horseback shouted for Joe to come to her.

While Zeke was down, Joe obeyed without a second thought. He leapt upon his horse and took the reins from her extended hand. Their knees urged the horses to flee, and the animals obeyed. The furious Zeke grabbed for Clem’s rifle, aimed, and fired a shot before they vanished into the darkness. The ball passed through Joe’s upper right arm but missed the bone. Though he grunted from the pain, it didn’t stop or slow his retreat.

“When I find you, I’ll kill you, you bastard!” they heard Zeke threaten as they rode out of rifle and hearing range. They galloped for over an hour before they halted to rest the horses.

Joe twisted in his saddle and looked behind them but heard and saw nothing of a pursuit. They had escaped, but what now? he mused.

“They not coming. I free horses,” she told him. “They be slow to catch and follow. We rest, ride, find secret place till gone.”

“You speak good English. I’m glad, because…” He couldn’t say he didn’t want to give away the fact he knew a little Lakota from Stede Gaston. He thought it was best to keep that skill a secret for now. “Thanks for what you did back there. I couldn’t have escaped without your help.”

Morning Star was surprised that the man wasn’t the least embarrassed or angered by a woman’s assistance; most warriors would be both. She liked his warm and grateful smile. She wished she could see him better, but the moon’s early ride across the heavens did not allow a clearer study. “You good white man,” she told him. When rushed or flustered, she often skipped words in sentences, and she didn’t get much practice in using her English these days anyhow.

“That sounds as if you haven’t met many good ones,” he hinted.

Her smile faded. “White men sica, bad,” she replied in a grave tone. “They hate, fear Dakotas. They kill, steal from Dakotas.”

“For no reason?” Joe prodded to learn her feelings. He needed to discover all he could from this maiden about the Indians and quickly, too, before his throbbing wound dulled his wits. He felt warm, sticky moisture easing down his arm and wetting his shirt and jacket.

Unaware of his wound, as she was positioned to his left, Morning Star mistook the meaning of his question. “They have reason; we Indian.”

“That’s no reason to kill anyone.” Joe’s voice was serious as he refuted, “I’m white and you’re Indian, but we helped each other. Surely there must be more to any trouble between the two peoples.”

“You not been here long. If yes, you know I speak truth.”

“I wasn’t calling you a liar, miss. I was stating a fact.”

“A fact is truth?” she questioned for clarity.

“Yes. Who are you? Why were those men holding you captive?”

“Talk later. Story long. Must find good place to hide. They after us soon.” She needed to hurry in case her group was still nearby and searching for her. She must warn them about the Crow band and, if possible, stop their enemy from receiving the powerful weapons.

“Wait a minute. I need to tie a strip around my arm to halt this bleeding. Soon I’ll be leaving a trail even a child could follow.”

“O-o? You wounded, shot?” she asked. Morning Star edged closer to him and peered around his body. She saw his darkened sleeve.

Joe also eyed the wet area. “I took a ball in my arm back there as we were leaving. I’ll be fine. Just help me tie a bandage around it.”

As Joe pulled a cloth from his saddlebag, Morning Star guided her mount to his other side. “Si. Makipazo we,” she said in a firm tone. When he looked at her, she translated. “Be still. Show to me.” She eased the jacket off his right shoulder and hand, then pushed up his sleeve.

Joe handed her the cloth. “Will you just bind it for me?” he asked. “We have to hurry. I don’t want them to catch up with us. We’ll tend it later.”

Morning Star leaned toward him and bound the wound with gentleness and care, then she pulled down his sleeve and helped him put his jacket back on. “I tend with medicine when camp. Must find place to hide. They search for us soon. Crow party meeting them on new sun.”

That was a clue Joe had been searching for, but it wouldn’t do him any good now. Rescuing her had severed any chance of using that contact. He was back to the first step in his difficult journey to the truth. Unless this woman knew more …“Why meet a Crow party? What’s in those wagons? Who are those men? What were you doing with them?” he questioned in a rush.

Morning Star was intrigued by his reaction. “Must go fast. Speak later.” She readjusted the bundle on her lap.

“Lead the way,” he said. “I don’t know this territory.”

“Come. You safe if be good white man. Oglalas honor words to others.”

“Oglala? That’s your tribe?” he asked.

Morning Star sensed curious pleasure in the man. “Han.”

“That means yes?” he knowingly inquired with a grin.

“Yes. Your eyes say you heard of Oglala tribe of Teton Dakotas.”

“Does anybody come to this . . .