It had taken three and a half days to make the journey to Red Shirt’s camp. On foot, it would take the three of them a day longer to make the return trip. It seemed even longer to Little Wolf. As each mountain crossed produced yet another one before them, he began to worry more and more about what might be happening to his village. The raid on Red Shirt’s camp was, more than likely, an isolated raid by a random army patrol. Still, until he saw Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman safe, he could not help but speculate about the possibility of a concerted effort by the army to force the tribe to move on to the reservation. There was no need to press his feelings of urgency upon his friends. They sensed it and wasted no time on the journey, never stopping to rest until it became too dark to sensibly find their way through the pitch black valleys and ravines. At night Morning Sky slept between Little Wolf and her brother to stay warm. The nights were cold and Little Wolf had lost his warm bearskin robe along with the pinto. Sleep, when it came, was fitful and shallow. Little Wolf would finally doze off from sheer exhaustion, only to awaken a short time after, shivering from the cold. The sequence would be repeated several times during the night until morning light when they would again start out.
Finally they reached the last ridge that stood between them and the village. Little Wolf climbed a huge boulder at the highest point in an effort to spot the little village although he knew the tipis would not be visible even from this vantage point. Spotted Pony had taken care to locate the camp on the far side of a large stand of trees so it would not be easily seen by an enemy. Still, Little Wolf thought he might be able to catch sight of a trace of smoke from a cook fire if he scanned the treetops carefully. What he saw sent a feeling of cold dread through his spine. Black Feather, climbing up behind him, sensed his friend’s concern.
“What is it?” he asked, searching in the direction of Little Wolf’s gaze.
Little Wolf did not answer. He didn’t have to. Black Feather saw at once what had momentarily captured his friend’s gaze. Far below them he could see the river as it wound its way around the base of the mountain and down through the valley. On the far side of the river the land began a gentle slope, covered by thick forests, a peaceful vista marred only by a thin gray cloud of smoke floating just above the treetops, too much smoke to have been caused by cook fires.
There was no need for comment. Little Wolf turned and scrambled down from the boulder. Without pausing to explain, he started down the mountain, going as fast as he could without losing his balance and taking a tumble. Black Feather followed, motioning to Morning Sky. It was fortunate for them that there was no need for caution for the three of them made their way straight down the mountainside as fast as they could, taking no pains to conceal their movements. Little Wolf had thoughts only of reaching his father’s side as soon as possible. Black Feather would have exercised more caution had he and his sister been alone but he was caught up in his friend’s panic to reach the camp and followed without hesitation, looking back only occasionally to make sure Morning Sky was keeping up.
When at last he reached the base of the mountain, Little Wolf dropped down behind a large tree on the bank of the river. While he caught his breath, he allowed some sense of reasoning to reenter his brain before crashing headlong into the river. The feeling of panic gave way to a sense of dread. As he knelt there, straining to see through the trees on the far riverbank that shielded the camp from sight, he knew what he would find in the village. Death seemed to hang in the air in the form of the thin cloud of smoke. In a matter of moments, Black Feather dropped down beside him. A few seconds more and Morning Sky joined them, gasping for air.
Little Wolf remained motionless for a while after he had calmed his breathing, scanning the trees on the other side of the river, listening. There was no sound other than the distant cry of a hawk and the worried murmur of the water as it fretted its course around the boulders in the riverbed. Minutes earlier, he could not wait to make his way down the mountainside in his haste to come to the aid of his family. Now he was reluctant to travel the few hundred yards left, dreading what he knew he would find. The picture of the carnage in Red Shirt’s camp returned to his mind. Finally he rose to his feet and turned to his friends.
“Come. I hear no sounds of life. I fear the enemy has already been here. We are too late.” With that he started across the river.
For the second time within a week’s span, Little Wolf witnessed man’s capability for wanton, senseless slaughter. The scene he and his two friends walked into left him sick inside, a sickness that would live within his heart for the rest of his life. At that moment his soul was snatched from the white man’s world and he became Arapaho completely. He could not align himself with men who would commit such atrocities as this. The carnage was much the same as he had just left in Red Shirt’s village. Lumps that were once human beings lay everywhere amid the charred remains of the tipis.
“The son of a bitches didn’t even bother to bury anybody. Just left ’em for the damn buzzards.”
Black Feather looked at him, astonished, for he had blurted it in English. Realizing his friend couldn’t understand what he said, he simply shook his head. Saying nothing, he continued to search through the ruined village for the two bodies he dreaded to find. He searched the whole village but could not find Spotted Pony or Buffalo Woman. When they were certain the bodies were not there, Little Wolf’s hopes lifted, if only slightly. Maybe they survived the attack. They must have escaped. Or were their bodies lying somewhere in the forest where they finally fell from their wounds? Little Wolf had to know. He would search the woods until he found them or found nothing. He could not leave without knowing for sure. His search was in vain. There was no sign of his parents so he clung to the hope that they had indeed escaped.
Before leaving, they felt they had to do something for the dead. They could not simply leave them sprawled around the clearing. Little Wolf’s inclination was to bury them but he had no implement for digging. Besides, it would have been impossible to convince Black Feather that the dead souls could soar into the heavens if they were buried under the ground. As a compromise, they laid out some charred lodge poles in a makeshift platform and laid the dead in rows. This pacified Black Feather’s sensibilities somewhat. Before they left, Little Wolf took a buckskin shirt from a man he had known as One Who Hears The Wind. He encouraged Black Feather to find something to keep him warm but his friend was appalled by the suggestion, thinking it almost sacrilegious. Little Wolf shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”
Little Wolf felt alone in the world for the first time since he had fled Johnson’s Crossing when Lige Talbot had gone down with a Pawnee axe in his neck. In truth he was not actually alone, for he had Black Feather and Morning Sky, but the loss of his adoptive parents scarred him deeply. The time he had spent with them had been the best time of his young life and now he had no idea where they were, or even if they were still alive. He was at a loss as to what he should do. Black Feather and his sister looked to him for guidance and he didn’t feel he could provide it.
“What are we going to do?” Black Feather finally asked, prompting Little Wolf to make some decision.
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to think about it. There must be some survivors somewhere. We’ll have to find them.” He thought for a moment longer. “For now, we’ll scout the area for any of our people who might be hiding.”
As they were leaving the village, Little Wolf spotted a half burned buffalo robe near the ashes of what was once a tipi. There was still a good portion of it that had not caught fire, enough to cover Morning Sky. “Here, put this around you,” he said, wrapping it around her slender shoulders. She smiled graciously and pulled the hide up close around her neck. Black Feather frowned but said nothing.
Together they traversed the forest around the clearing. There was plenty of sign that some had escaped but there was no one to be found anywhere, no horses or dogs even. It was as if the soldiers had left nothing alive. After an hour or so, they abandoned their search. Little Wolf, encouraged now that his parents might still be safe, decided to head south in hopes of finding Black Kettle’s camp, thinking that possibly Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman had fled to join up with their chief. That was as good a plan as any as far as Black Feather was concerned, so the three of them set out across the river and turned south.
They had barely crossed the shallow water when Little Wolf thought of one place he had not searched. He was amazed that he had not thought to look there before, so he led his friends downstream for a couple hundred yards to a place where the river forked and passed on both sides of a tiny island of boulders. The young boys of the village had found the little island a favorite place to play their imaginary war games against each other. It was a favorite place because of the concealment the boulders offered and the challenge to “assault” the fortress without being seen by the defenders.
Stepping from stone to stone, they made their way across the water to the little island and Little Wolf led the way through an opening in the boulders to a fortlike enclosure. Once inside, he stopped so abruptly that Black Feather, who was walking right behind him, stumbled into him.
“What is it?” he whispered and then he saw what had stopped Little Wolf so suddenly. Two burial platforms had been constructed in the center of the rocks, one a few feet higher than the other.
In reverence to the dead, they began to back slowly from the clearing when Black Feather noticed that one of the bodies was not completely sewn up in its buckskin covering. Whoever had prepared them for burial had evidently been interrupted before he finished. He quietly pointed this out to Little Wolf and they stopped to speculate on what had happened.
“Little Wolf!” The voice came from behind them.
Startled, Little Wolf whirled toward the source of the voice, his hand on the rifle, ready to fire. It was Sleeps Standing, the friend with whom he had so often hunted.
“Sleeps Standing!” he exclaimed, overjoyed at the sight of a friendly face. The two friends locked arms in greeting. Little Wolf’s broad smile faded as he remembered the graves. “Your parents?” He nodded toward the bodies.
“Yes,” Sleeps Standing said softly.
“Are you the only one left? Where are the others? Where are Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman? Are they alive?”
Sleeps Standing told them that a few of the camp escaped the pony soldiers. Little Wolf’s parents were among them. There had been no chance to defend the camp. He had been away on an overnight hunting trip with three other warriors. They had heard the gunfire and the screams from a distance when they were returning to the village but were unable to get there until it was all over. A few of the tribe had made it to safety in the forest but most of the people were killed. Some of those who had survived had fled to warn Black Kettle. Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman were among these. The three young warriors who had been hunting with him were against going to Black Kettle’s village. The soldiers were bound to attack the village, they said. They thought it best to go off alone to fight the white man wherever and whenever possible. He had stayed to take care of his parents’ bodies and then he planned to join the other three in the high mountains to the north.
Sleeps Standing offered to share a deer he had killed if Little Wolf and his friends would wait until morning to start out for Black Kettle’s camp. Since they had eaten very little during the past few days—berries, a couple of rabbits and some pemmican Morning Sky had managed to save from their village—they eagerly accepted the invitation. He had made a camp near a fork in the river where a stand of tall pines offered protection from the cold. Morning Sky cooked the meat and they ate their fill for the first time in days. Afterward, they lay before the fire and talked. Sleeps Standing spoke with great emotion of his need to avenge his parents and encouraged his guests to join him and the others in the high mountains. Little Wolf declined. He knew what he had to do but he could see that the idea appealed to Black Feather and, before it was time to sleep, his friend had caught the fire of revenge in his own eyes. So it was no surprise to Little Wolf the next morning when Black Feather told him of his intention to accompany Sleeps Standing and make war on the white soldiers. He made a brief argument to persuade Little Wolf to come along also but did not persist when Little Wolf again declined.
“You understand,” Little Wolf explained, “I have to make sure Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman are safe.”
“I understand.”
The two friends stood looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Little Wolf spoke again. “I would join you if I knew them to be dead. It’s not the color of my skin that keeps me from warring on the whites. I am Arapaho.” He searched Black Feather’s face for understanding. “I must go to them.”
Black Feather smiled at his friend. “I know. It’s all right. I’ll kill some for you and I’ll sing of your kill of the army scout.”
Little Wolf smiled. He had not thought of the man he had killed in Red Shirt’s camp. A kill was big medicine, especially when it was accomplished at close range with a knife or club. The Cheyenne and Arapaho found it more honorable to count coup than to actually kill an enemy at long range. But when a warrior is close enough to kill an enemy hand to hand, that is indeed a great honor. He thanked Black Feather and wished him and Sleeps Standing a safe journey. Black Feather had one request before they parted.
“We must travel fast and it will be a hard winter in the mountains, too hard for a young girl. Will you take Morning Sky with you to Black Kettle’s camp?”
Little Wolf had anticipated his request. It would indeed be a hard winter for one so young. He knew also that Black Feather preferred not to have his sister spend the winter with a band of young men. She would be married before the spring came.
“Yes,” he answered, “I’ll watch over her as I would my own sister.”
* * *
When morning came, the young friends parted. Little Wolf and Morning Sky said their good-byes and watched Black Feather and Sleeps Standing until they disappeared around the bend in the river.
“Come, little sister, let’s go find Black Kettle.” Little Wolf smiled down at Morning Sky. The girl had made no protest when told that she was not to go with her brother. Had he any knowledge of girls, he might have been able to see that she preferred to go with him, no matter what the destination. So they began their search for Black Kettle.
As a gesture of his friendship and to show support for their quest, Little Wolf had made a gift of the rifle and ammunition to Black Feather. They would have need of the weapon if they were to make war on the soldiers. Little Wolf was not reluctant to part with it anyway. He had his bow, his knife and his war club. These were all he would need to kill game on their journey. Even if he had kept the rifle, he would have been reluctant to use it for fear the shots might be heard. He was quite confident in his skill with his bow. If there was game to be found, he would find it. Of that, he was also confident. Morning Sky proved to be quite resourceful in finding berries and wild turnips, which she would bake in the hot ashes of their campfire at night. When it was time to sleep, she would wrap herself in her charred buffalo robe and press her young body up tight against his.
As they made their way south, leaving the cover of the hills and tall trees and on to the rolling grassy plains, she never complained and always managed to keep up with his pace. After five days’ traveling, they came upon the basin Sleeps Standing had told them to look for. Here, where the two rivers joined, Sleeps Standing said Black Kettle had made his winter camp. There had been a camp there all right, but it had been abandoned. For what reason they could only guess for there was no sign of violence. It appeared that the entire village had simply packed up and left. As they stood in the middle of the deserted campsite, Little Wolf was careful to hide his disappointment. When he looked down into Morning Sky’s face, she only smiled and awaited his instructions. She felt safe with him and was content to go wherever he went. He could not help but be lifted by the girl’s spunk.
“It seems our journey’s not over,” he said cheerfully. She nodded agreement and they set out again in the direction that Black Kettle’s tribe had taken. The trail was not hard to follow. It appeared Black Kettle had taken no pains to conceal his direction of travel. Little Wolf and Morning Sky walked for two more days before sighting another human being.
* * *
He saw them when they were maybe two or three miles away. It was a small party, maybe six or seven riders. He couldn’t be sure but he didn’t think they had spotted the two of them as yet so he motioned for Morning Sky to stay low and follow him to a group of cottonwoods by a dry streambed. There they could stay out of sight until the party passed. Judging by their direction of travel, the party would pass within a few hundred yards of their hiding place. Little Wolf crawled up close to the top of a slope that fronted the trees to keep a close watch on the riders. It would be impossible to tell if they were friendly until they came quite a bit closer. Still he strained his eyes in an attempt to identify the travelers as soon as possible. Every few minutes he would glance back at the cottonwoods to make sure Morning Sky was all right. He need not have worried. Quite secure in the knowledge that Little Wolf would take care of her, she was content to rest quietly in the shade of the small grove.
Now they were close enough to see that there were six of them, all men and, to his relief, they were Arapaho. Still, before he left the cover of the ridge, he waited until they were close enough for him to hear an occasional word as they carried on their casual conversation. He wanted to be certain they were friendly. They looked to be Arapaho but they could also be a band of Commanches who had wandered this far north to hunt. There could be no doubt, however, that their speech was Arapaho. When they were at the closest point in passing, he stood up and called out to them.
There seemed to be no leader of the party, just six young braves traveling together. They all wheeled as one when they heard Little Wolf’s call, and their ponies danced back and forth from side to side as the young men searched for the source of the voice. One of them pointed to the ridge where Little Wolf stood and then they talked excitedly among themselves, probably deciding whether it was a trap or not, Little Wolf figured.
“I am Little Wolf,” he called out, “son of Spotted Pony of the Arapaho.”
One of the warriors turned and said something to his companions and then they rode toward him. “Little Wolf, I know you. What are you doing alone in the prairie?”
Little Wolf recognized the man then. He was called Bloody Claw, a member of the Dog Society and, like Spotted Pony, one of the few Arapahos who lived with the Cheyennes. Confident now that he was among friends, he called Morning Sky out of the trees behind him and told the men of their journey to find Black Kettle.
Bloody Claw spoke. “Black Kettle has taken his village to the soldiers’ fort on the Horse River, the place the white man calls Fort Lyons. The white chief there has told him they will protect his people and give them food and there will be no more killing.” He gestured toward his companions, some of whom Little Wolf recognized from the summer rendezvous. “My brothers and I do not wish to live under the white man’s law. Black Kettle is a man of peace and we respect that. But it is not our way. We go to join the others in the high mountains to live as a warrior should live. Why don’t you come with us? It is no way to live, to grow old on a reservation.”
Little Wolf was tempted to join them. He had no desire to live on a reservation either. He had learned to love the life he had adopted, where the tribe was free to hunt and live where they wished. Still, he felt he must find Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman. Now, too, he had the responsibility of taking care of Morning Sky. He had promised Black Feather that he would see his sister safely back to her relatives with Black Kettle. He felt bound to that promise.
“No. Thank you for inviting me to join you but I must find Spotted Pony first. When I see him and take Morning Sky back to her people, then I may come to find you in the mountains.”
They said good-bye to the party of warriors and continued their journey south. Little Wolf had made a decision, one that he felt was the proper one. Yet he didn’t feel completely at peace with it. Many conflicting thoughts troubled his mind as he and Morning Sky covered the slow miles toward Fort Lyons. He felt in his mind that he was Arapaho even though his childhood memories, though not fresh, were still there. He wished that he had been found by Spotted Pony when he was a baby, too small to have any memories of being white. Then these troublesome thoughts would not be there to bother him. Part of his heart wanted to be with Black Feather in the mountains. But part of him still harbored a reluctance to make war on the people of his birth, his blood kin. He had no desire to live on the reservation and yet he had never actually lived on a reservation so how was he to know if he would like it or not? Maybe it would be as the government had originally promised and the tribe would be given their own land with game and water, and left in peace. This would not be so bad. He could again enjoy his life with Spotted Pony. He could hunt and trap and live the life he had come to love. So, he concluded, the decision was good. He would join Black Kettle and stay with his parents.
Two more days found them at the south fork of the Horse River. From there, they followed the river further south and east until, on the evening of the third day, they spotted distant campfires that Little Wolf was almost certain were those of Black Kettle’s people. Since it was already dark and the village was still some distance away, Little Wolf decided it would be prudent to wait until morning before riding in. There was an army post close by and he did not think it wise to proceed in the darkness. He did not want to come all this way only to be shot by a cavalry patrol from Fort Lyons. Bloody Claw had said that Black Kettle was under the protection of the commander of the fort but that might not be the case. He wanted to make sure the tribe was not being held captive. He would wait until morning to see if there were soldiers in the village.
Morning Sky was content to make camp for Little Wolf on the bank of the river. He thought she might complain when told he had decided to wait another night before taking her to her people but she seemed content with the decision. She even hummed to herself as she went about gathering some small branches to make a bed for them. He watched her busying herself around their makeshift camp, her movements fluid and purposeful. He caught himself admiring her face, a rather pleasant face, he thought. She was really a graceful girl for one so young. She was going to be a handsome woman one day. Realizing that he was allowing his mind to travel in dangerous directions, and feeling a mite sheepish about having thoughts about his best friend’s little sister, he jerked his mind back to the business at hand. After all, the girl couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. He decided to see if there were any fish in the river. Maybe he could catch a couple for their evening meal.
Any fishing skills he possessed, he learned as a small boy because neither Arapaho nor Cheyenne cared much for fishing. The only time the men of his tribe would fish was if there was no other food available and they were starving. He had no fishhooks or line but he thought if he could sight one, he would make a try at shooting one with his bow. As it turned out, he didn’t get the opportunity to test his skill because he walked up and down the riverbank for at least a half mile in both directions without seeing any sign of anything alive in the muddy water. Finally he gave it up when pitch-black darkness made it too dark to see anything.
Morning Sky had already built a small fire and cooked what was left of the rabbit he had killed earlier that day. He smiled to himself as he noticed that she did not have to be told to dig a hole in the bank for her cook fire so the flames would not be visible for any distance. She smiled warmly as he approached, her eyes following his every move until he had settled himself by the fire.
“Were your fish too heavy to carry by yourself? Do you want me to go back and help you carry them?”
She had taken to teasing him quite a bit during the last few days. “No,” he replied, pretending to be irritated by her taunting. “I decided that you wouldn’t know how to cook them so I threw them back in the river for the turtles to eat.”
She laughed and held out a piece of the rabbit to him, then sat back to watch him eat. He didn’t eat it at once.
“Where is yours?” he asked. When she reached beside her and held up a piece of the scrawny meat, he accepted his portion. This was something else he had begun to notice. If he wasn’t careful in watching her, she would go without, giving him her share. He had started out taking care of her but, by the time they reached the Horse River, she was more often than not taking care of him. I hope they have something to eat in the village, he thought. He was growing tired of the steady diet of rabbit they had endured for the past several days of their journey.
They talked for a while before going to sleep. There had not been a great deal of conversation between them during the days before. Morning Sky was a quiet girl and most of the time she simply followed along behind him, making no unnecessary talk. Now, on the eve of their reunion with the tribe, it was as if the journey they had taken together had somehow established a special bond between them. For his part, he felt more relaxed than he had on any night since they had left Black Feather and Sleeps Standing. For one thing, he felt the journey had been completed. He had found Black Kettle. And, he reasoned, there shouldn’t be much danger from army patrols. When they first made camp almost within sight of their destination, he felt the need for caution. Now he reconsidered. Why would the army be out looking for Indians when the whole tribe was camped right outside their gate? So he relaxed and enjoyed the idle chatter of his traveling companion. She was obviously excited about joining her uncle’s family in the morning.
After a while the conversation seemed to have run its course and it was time to sleep. Little Wolf banked the coals of their fire so it wouldn’t go out during the night. The nights were cold now and the thought of sleeping in a warm tipi appealed strongly to him after so many nights in the open. During their journey, Morning Sky would make a bed of pine boughs and aspen leaves, whenever they were available, to give them some separation from the cold ground. Some nights had found them on the open prairie with nothing to use for insulation. These were the nights that began a practice of sleeping together for warmth. Morning Sky wanted to share her buffalo robe with him but it was too small to cover them both. So she wrapped herself in the robe and snuggled up tightly against his back to keep him warm. With Morning Sky at his back and the fire in front of him, he was reasonably warm, at least warm enough to fall into fitful periods of sleep.
But on this night, their camp was almost as warm as a tipi. It was a shallow cave, sculpted out of the riverbank by the rushing spring thaws, when the water was high. Morning Sky had dug out a fire pit on one side and the little cave was quite comfortable. Little Wolf thought to himself that he could enjoy staying here for a while, at least until the spring thaws filled the cave with water. He settled down beside the fire and made himself comfortable. Morning Sky took a cloth down to the water’s edge and wet it. She always did this whenever they camped near a stream or river. Usually she went from the camp to wash some of the dust and grime away, far enough away to ensure her privacy. This night she soaked the cloth and came back to the cave.
“It’s cold outside tonight,” she offered in explanation.
He shrugged, already drowsy. “Yes, it’s cold,” was his only reply.
“If it’s all right, I’ll clean myself here where it’s warm.” She waited for his response. There was none so she prodded, “Is it all right?”
“What? Oh . . . yes, it’s all right.” He was too drowsy to really care what she was saying; his eyelids were already heavy.
After a few moments of silence, something nudged his sleepy brain and he opened his eyes again. Without stirring from his position, he glanced back toward the mouth of the cave, his eyelids still barely half open. His gaze was immediately captured by a vision of soft, brown skin. She had removed her leggings and her skirt, now pulled up almost to her waist, revealed well-rounded thighs and buttocks. He found his eyes riveted to the soft curves of her upper thigh as she slowly rubbed the wet cloth over them. It was more a caress than a cleaning motion and he was at once fascinated by the ritual. He knew he should roll over and ignore the young girl’s bathing but he found he could not.
His eyes followed the bare thigh up until it was again hidden by the folds of her gathered skirt. His gaze continued upward to her blouse. It was untied and open enough to expose two young breasts, not fully developed, but swollen with the promise of womanhood soon to come. He felt a definite stirring deep within him, the thought of sleep all but a memory. At the same time he felt a twinge of guilt, for here he was gazing wantonly at his friend’s little sister, she no more than a child and he charged with her safety. Feeling ashamed, he glanced up into her face, only to find her eyes locked on his. He knew at once that she was aware of his visual fondling of her body. He flushed, feeling foolish at having been caught leering at a child, and attempted to appear oblivious to her. But she knew she had captured his eye. He pretended to go back to sleep.
She lay down next to him as she had done on nights past when there was no protection from the prairie wind. It was not necessary on this night in their snug little cave. The fire kept it warm enough to sleep even without the buffalo robe. Still she pressed her body up close against his back. But on this night he was aware of the feel of her for the first time. He didn’t like the thoughts that were racing through his mind and he tried to dismiss them. She was little more than a baby, he told himself, and she was Black Feather’s sister . . . and his responsibility. He prayed sleep would come quickly.
“Little Wolf,” she whispered softly.
He felt thousands of tiny needles up his spine and at first he pretended to be asleep.
“Little Wolf,” she persisted.
“What is it?”
She put her arm around his waist and pressed her body even tighter against his back. “What’s going to happen when we get to the village in the morning?”
He didn’t understand her question. “What do you mean?” he asked, then said, “It depends on Black Kettle. He is chief.”
“I mean what is going to happen to us, you and me?”
He was beginning to understand what she was getting at and he was also aware of the slight movement of her hand up and down on his bare chest. “I am going to find Spotted Pony and Buffalo Woman and you are going to your uncle’s lodge,” he said.
“I could stay with you,” she said, her voice low, the words spoken with a deliberate softness. “I would make you a good wife.”
Her childish attempt to be seductive was probably the only thing that saved him from doing something he might have regretted later. For suddenly the thought that she was trying to seduce him amused him and it immediately drove all erotic thoughts of her from his mind. Now it became a game of tease with his friend’s little sister. But he had come close, awfully close, to taking advantage of the situation.
“You are too young to even talk of such things,” he teased. “Wait until you are no longer a baby. Then we’ll think about it. I’m not ready to tie myself to a wife now anyway, especially one that’s not old enough to wean.”
His comment brought the reaction he expected. She sat upright, indignant in her response. “I am not too young,” she protested. “Look at me!” She pulled her blouse apart, exposing her young breasts. “See! I am almost a woman already!” When he did not turn over to look at her, she grabbed his arm and placed his hand on her breast.
Little Wolf was in complete control of his emotions by then and he was enjoying the situation. He left his hand on her breast for a few moments, feigning serious concentration before remarking, “Yes, I think I can feel something. Maybe it’s a bee sting. Maybe you should put some buffalo fat on it when we get to the village tomorrow.”
“You are too stupid to marry!” she exclaimed in disgust, jerking his hand away from her. “When you think you are ready to take a wife, I won’t want you!” With that, she lay back and turned her back to him. “Stupid boy!” she muttered as she pulled the buffalo robe up over her head.
“Good night, little one,” he laughed. She did not answer.