awoke
clear-eyed, as hungry as a grizzly after a winter’s sleep. Feeling
weak, he sat up, his hand going to his side as a twinge of pain
darted through him.
Peeling back the bandage swathed around his
middle, he examined the wound. It seemed to be healing. The skin
around the mouth of the wound was no longer raw and red but a
healthy shade of pink. The ominous red streaks had disappeared.
“ Bless the girl,” he murmured
fervently. “She’s saved my life.” And cut me loose, he mused,
realizing for the first time that his hands and feet were no longer
bound.
Hearing footsteps, Culhane pulled the buffalo
robe over his nakedness, wondering, as he did so, what had become
of his uniform pants and boots.
He smiled at the girl walking toward him,
recognizing her as the one who had nursed him. She was a beautiful
creature, lithe and lovely as a young doe.
She came to a halt when she saw that he was
sitting up. Turning on her heel, she went back to her lodge.
Moments later, she returned, followed by the
warrior who had taken Culhane prisoner.
Before Culhane could protest, the warrior
yanked him to his feet, bound his hands behind his back with a
strip of rawhide, and dragged him to a stout wooden post near the
edge of the village. With a deft movement, the warrior dropped a
noose around Culhane’s neck, secured the end to the top of the
post, then strode briskly away.
Muttering an oath, Culhane sank down on his
heels on the hard ground, his back resting against the rough-hewn
post with his long legs drawn up to his chest to shield his
nakedness. From here, he had a clear view of the Indian camp. There
were about sixty lodges located in a wide circle. He noticed all
the entrances faced east, toward the rising sun. All the lodge
covers were decorated, some with animals, some with birds, others
with suns or moons or stars.
A range of mountains loomed in the West, a
forest of pine trees bordered the far side of the camp, a lazy
river flowed along the southern boundary.
Glancing around, he saw drying racks heavy
with meat. Shaggy, brown, buffalo robes were pegged to the ground,
hairy side down, while women scraped away the meat and fat. Tripods
stood outside most of the lodges. He surmised the women did most of
their cooking outside when the weather permitted. The Indian horse
herd grazed in the distance. He could see several young boys
wandering among the horses, swinging aboard their bare backs,
hanging from their necks with all the ease of circus
performers.
Shortly, people began to emerge from their
homes. Women made their way to the river for fresh water, or to the
forest for wood. Young boys tumbled out of the lodges like puppies,
eager to discover the adventures of a new day. Little girls tagged
at their mother’s heels, learning early how to prepare a meal or
tan a hide. Warriors emerged from their lodges stretching
sleep-weary muscles as they made their way to the river to
bathe.
Soon, the smell of roasting meat filled the
air. From somewhere in the distance came the rich aroma of looted
Army coffee. Culhane’s stomach began to growl loudly, reminding him
he hadn’t eaten a full meal in several days.
Children played all around him, not daring to
get too close to the strange white man, but curious just the same.
Occasionally a man or a woman would walk past Culhane, their dark
eyes filled with scorn when they looked at him.
An hour later, the girl who had tended his
wounds approached him. Kneeling at his side, she offered him a
drink of water from something that looked suspiciously like the
bladder of a deer. Then she spooned a bowl of hot broth into
him.
Culhane ate readily, though it was
humiliating to be hand-fed as if he were an infant unable to feed
himself. Even more disconcerting was the fact that he was stark
naked.
When the bowl was empty, the girl rose to her
feet.
“ Natonoson, nahotoetan,” Culhane
called. “Wait, please.”
Winter Star paused, a smile playing over her
lips as he stumbled
clear-eyed, as hungry as a grizzly after a winter’s sleep. Feeling
weak, he sat up, his hand going to his side as a twinge of pain
darted through him.
Peeling back the bandage swathed around his
middle, he examined the wound. It seemed to be healing. The skin
around the mouth of the wound was no longer raw and red but a
healthy shade of pink. The ominous red streaks had disappeared.
“ Bless the girl,” he murmured
fervently. “She’s saved my life.” And cut me loose, he mused,
realizing for the first time that his hands and feet were no longer
bound.
Hearing footsteps, Culhane pulled the buffalo
robe over his nakedness, wondering, as he did so, what had become
of his uniform pants and boots.
He smiled at the girl walking toward him,
recognizing her as the one who had nursed him. She was a beautiful
creature, lithe and lovely as a young doe.
She came to a halt when she saw that he was
sitting up. Turning on her heel, she went back to her lodge.
Moments later, she returned, followed by the
warrior who had taken Culhane prisoner.
Before Culhane could protest, the warrior
yanked him to his feet, bound his hands behind his back with a
strip of rawhide, and dragged him to a stout wooden post near the
edge of the village. With a deft movement, the warrior dropped a
noose around Culhane’s neck, secured the end to the top of the
post, then strode briskly away.
Muttering an oath, Culhane sank down on his
heels on the hard ground, his back resting against the rough-hewn
post with his long legs drawn up to his chest to shield his
nakedness. From here, he had a clear view of the Indian camp. There
were about sixty lodges located in a wide circle. He noticed all
the entrances faced east, toward the rising sun. All the lodge
covers were decorated, some with animals, some with birds, others
with suns or moons or stars.
A range of mountains loomed in the West, a
forest of pine trees bordered the far side of the camp, a lazy
river flowed along the southern boundary.
Glancing around, he saw drying racks heavy
with meat. Shaggy, brown, buffalo robes were pegged to the ground,
hairy side down, while women scraped away the meat and fat. Tripods
stood outside most of the lodges. He surmised the women did most of
their cooking outside when the weather permitted. The Indian horse
herd grazed in the distance. He could see several young boys
wandering among the horses, swinging aboard their bare backs,
hanging from their necks with all the ease of circus
performers.
Shortly, people began to emerge from their
homes. Women made their way to the river for fresh water, or to the
forest for wood. Young boys tumbled out of the lodges like puppies,
eager to discover the adventures of a new day. Little girls tagged
at their mother’s heels, learning early how to prepare a meal or
tan a hide. Warriors emerged from their lodges stretching
sleep-weary muscles as they made their way to the river to
bathe.
Soon, the smell of roasting meat filled the
air. From somewhere in the distance came the rich aroma of looted
Army coffee. Culhane’s stomach began to growl loudly, reminding him
he hadn’t eaten a full meal in several days.
Children played all around him, not daring to
get too close to the strange white man, but curious just the same.
Occasionally a man or a woman would walk past Culhane, their dark
eyes filled with scorn when they looked at him.
An hour later, the girl who had tended his
wounds approached him. Kneeling at his side, she offered him a
drink of water from something that looked suspiciously like the
bladder of a deer. Then she spooned a bowl of hot broth into
him.
Culhane ate readily, though it was
humiliating to be hand-fed as if he were an infant unable to feed
himself. Even more disconcerting was the fact that he was stark
naked.
When the bowl was empty, the girl rose to her
feet.
“ Natonoson, nahotoetan,” Culhane
called. “Wait, please.”
Winter Star paused, a smile playing over her
lips as he stumbled
Similar Books
