Walks the Fire by Stephanie Grace Whitson Read Free Book Online Page B

to the side of the tepee opposite Jesse. Grunting loudly she dragged a bedroll across to where Jesse sat. Returning to the opposite side again, she unrolled two more skins, obviously preparing beds for the tepee’s inhabitants.
    As dusk arrived, the Indian came back. He glanced Jesse’s way and turned abruptly to speak softly to the old woman. He tipped a skin that hung on a pole near the center of the tepee. Fresh water spilled out and he washed his hands, then drank deeply. Jesse watched fearfully as the head tilted back to drink. The muscular neck was set onto powerful, broad shoulders. The hands that held the water skin were large. In the growing darkness, the glow of the fire gave the Indian’s skin an eerie redness. Jesse shivered as he finished drinking and turned toward her.
    But it was the infant who commanded his attention. Kneeling by the child he stroked the dark hair, softly chanting,
    A wa wa wa
    Inila istinma ma
    awawaxua
    wablenica.
    He padded a skin hide with something white and fluffy taken from a leather bag. Then he wrapped the baby in the hide diaper and returned him to Jesse. He motioned for her to lie down on the buffalo robe the old woman had unrolled. Jesse gratefully lay down, the child at her side. In spite of her fears, sleep came. The baby slept in her arms, waking to nurse greedily several times that first night.
    In the morning, when the old woman tried to awaken her, Jesse was vaguely aware of being prodded to rise, but she could not respond. The bruises and the aching muscles, the fear and the sleepless night of the storm, had taken their toll. The sleeping infant was lifted gently away and his fawn skin diaper changed. Jesse King slept away most of her first day as a captive in a Lakota village.

Seven
    … cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee. — Psalm 143:8

    For as long as he could remember, life had been unkind to Howling Wolf. His father had been killed in a raid on the Brule tribe. The new husband who took in his mother had instantly disliked Howling Wolf, chasing him off until the young man quit coming back and scrounged for his own livelihood. He managed to survive, but his luck was always bad. Once he had acquired a fine mare, but she had gone lame the morning after he stole her from the Pawnee. Mounted on old, poorly kept ponies, Howling Wolf rarely succeeded in the buffalo hunt. His tepee was small and sparsely furnished. He had only two ponies. Still, he was a handsome brave. Recklessly fierce in battle, he won the respect and admiration of many of his peers.
    Howling Wolf usually hid the bitterness in his heart. But the tribal elders saw his quick rages and shook their heads in disgust. Four Skies waxed eloquent over more than one campfire on Howling Wolfs behalf. “I am certain that time will calm his heart,” and here Four Skies paused and winked at those around him, “time and a good woman.” The other elders shrugged their shoulders and hoped that Four Skies was right.
    As he grew older, Howling Wolf’s fortunes did not change much. He always seemed to have just enough to get through each winter, but there was never an abundance. He remained restless and fierce, yearning to grasp success from the wind and become a leader of his people. When Prairie Flower cast her first womanly glances in his direction, Howling Wolf was astounded. She was the daughter of a well-respected elder.
    Prairie Flower’s father warned her against Howling Wolf’s uncertain temperament, but Prairie Flower became even more determined to woo him. She was captivated by both his beauty and his rebellious and fierce nature. Her own loveliness transformed Howling Wolf’s surliness long enough for him to wrap her in his buffalo robe outside her father’s tepee and claim her as his bride.
    Their youthful exuberance soon wore itself out. Prairie Flower became the excuse for Howling Wolf’s continued bad luck. He ridiculed and blamed her, destroying her