Chapter Thirteen
O-Ohh, the pain! The pain! The pai-ain! It was so intensely profound that Jim Crown began grimacing and gasping and writhing around. But there was no escaping it. Despite all his twisting and turning, the pain just kept right on burning and burning.
"O-Oh-ohhh..." he moaned aloud and started tossing his sweaty head from side to side.
"Will you please hold still!" a very familiar voice ordered sternly, "Please! You must lie still!"
The hurting man halted all motion--for the moment--and snapped his tightly shut eyes open.
A very familiar--smiling--figure appeared, kneeling at his side. "That's better," John Two Rivers told him and pressed a wooden ladel up to his parched, tightly-pursed lips, "Go on," the Indian urged, "drink! It is the water you wanted."
The young cowboy shot the young brave kneeling beside him a grateful look and obligingly sipped some of the liquid from the ladel. Then, no longer distracted by his friend's sudden appearance--or his seemingly unquenchable thirst--all of Jim's attention involuntarily returned to the persistent and profound pain that was racking his body.
John gasped in exasperation as Jim started squirming around again. The Indian set the bowl of beef broth in his hands down and straddled the writhing Windrider. "How am I supposed to feed you--if you will not lie still?!" John wondered as he pinned his incredibly weak patient's hands down at his sides and then held them there with his knees.
His now pinned--but still extremely pained--patient protested, using up what little strength he had left in him in the struggle.
"I am sorry to have to do this to you, my friend," the brave assured Jim as he reached for the bottle Ol' Dan had left behind, "but you leave me no choice. I must feed you. You must eat. You must regain your strength!" he impatiently explained, pulling the cork from the bottle and pinching his suddenly stiff--and absolutely astounded--friend's nostrils shut. In the end, the cowboy had to breathe--which meant he had to open his mouth--and, when he did, Mr. Two Rivers shoved the bottle into it and poured a quarter of its putrid contents down his choking patient's throat. The Indian clamped a hand over Jim Crown's hatch and kept it there until the cowboy finished swallowing every last disgusting drop of Ol' Dan's 'elixir'.
Several grimaces, 'gasps' and shudders later, Jim began to feel the effects of his prescribed pain remedy. And one of the major effects was that he suddenly felt very little else. Soon he felt nothing--at all. Everything was sort of numb--including his noggin.
"Here," John unstraddled his now completely calm, perfectly peaceful patient and picked the wooden bowl back up, "take some of this...to get rid of the taste."
Ah yes! The ta-aste! Jim's nose had been quite accurate about that. The stuff tasted like a half-decayed carcass had been soaking in it all right. But the cowboy no longer cared. Jim just stared rather dazedly up at his Indian friend as tidal waves of drowziness began to sweep over him. He got two or three swallows of the beef broth down him before one of those waves finally swamped him--and swept him clean away.
John's heart skipped a beat as the cowboy's body suddenly went completely limp. 'If Windrider drinks, drink will kill Windrider!' Jim Crown's words echoed for a moment through the Indian's troubled mind.
But then, the seemingly dead cowboy drew an incredibly deep breath in and exhaled it as a long sigh of complete and utter contentment.
The brave breathed a rather long sigh himself--of relief! So, his patient wasn't dead, after all. He was merely sleeping. And that was good! Because the young cowboy needed rest as badly as he needed food--maybe even more! John studied his friend's pale face carefully. It presented such a...deathlike appearance. The Indian gave the bottle a nervous glance. It bore no labels. So he had no clue as to what it contained. (What it contained was: Ol' Dan's 'elixir'--a potent pain remedy which consisted mainly of laudanum--a solution of opium in alcohol. To which the wiley old codger had added his own, 'secret'--and smelly--ingredient. The opium already gave the laudanum a very bitter taste. But to further discourage people who were not suffering from consuming any of his precious supply of pain-killer, Ol' Dan threw in an unhealthy dose of stinkweed squeezin's. Stinkweed squeezin's rendered the already bitter concoction so repulsive that only someone truly in dire straits would ever-- willingly--swallow any of it.)
And, speaking of swallowing the stuff...
One swig was enough to cause an average adult to feel quite intoxicated and was quite capable of keeping--even the antsiest person--peacefully sedated for several hours.
Two swigs would deaden a person's faculties and senses to such a degree that their foot could be on fire and they would be completely unaware of it.
Three swigs could induce such a deep and profound sleep that a person might be 'totally out of it' for days!
Downing a quarter of a bottle was enough to--well, such an 'overdose' very often proved fatal!
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During the course of the next five da-ays, Jim Crown lay in a coma, just about as close to death as anyone could possibly get--and still live to tell about it!
More than once during that time, John Two Rivers felt convinced that he had, indeed, killed his new-found friend, only to find that Windrider's respirations had just slowed to such an extreme--and dangerous--degree that his breathing had become practically imperceptible.
On top of everything else, lying in the same position for so long--coupled with a complete lack of any movement--had allowed the opening to the infected wound in the cowboy's back to heal over. So that, even though the Indian faithfully changed the dressing every day--just as Ol' Dan directed--instead of draining out, the poisons remained sealed inside Jim's body--and quickly spread throughout the rest of his system.
Finally, on the afternoon of the fifth day, Mr. Two Rivers' patient 'moaned' softly and then--ever so slowly--opened his eyes. The dense fog--which had so totally enveloped his senses for so long--gradually cleared. He stared up at the lodge poles over his head in confusion for a few moments and then turned his groggy gaze in the Indian's direction. Jim Crown seemed more than a little relieved to find his 'friend' still sitting, cross-legged, at his side. The cowboy was so weak from lack of food and so dehydrated from lack of water that he could'nt even wet his own lips.
"At last!" John Two Rivers told him, looking and sounding tremendously relieved, "Windrider has returned to the land of the living! Welcome back!" he added with a smile and held a dipper full of fresh, cold water up to his feverish friend.
Jim's parched lips formed a slight smile as well and then parted to allow a few long swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid to be poured down his incredibly dry-y throat. "...how...how lo-ong?" the cowboy wondered in a cracked, hoarse whisper.
"Five da-ays," the Indian solemnly repied. "Yes. I fear I came very close to killing you, my friend," he added regretably, seeing Jim Crown's incredulous look.
The cowboy looked even more incredulous and then quickly changed the subject, "Sa-ay...Mr. Two Rivers...you wouldn' happen ta have...any more a' that...broth...lyin' around...would you?"
John seemed rather relieved to find his recently returned friend so forgiving, and rather pleased that his patient's appetite seemed to have returned along with him. "I shall bring you some shortly," he vowed. "But first, you must have some more water."
Jim readily took another long, refreshing drink from the dipper. The ladel was pressed to his lips a third time and again he downed every last drop. Only it wasn't to be the last drop. For John held the dipper up to his severely dehydrated friend's frowning mouth a fourth time and forced him to swallow every bit of its cool contents as well. Jim even managed to somehow down a fifth dipper full of water. But then, halfway through a sixth, he shivered and turned his hot, dizzy head to one side. The cowboy 'gasped' and his weary eyes widened as the remainder of the ice cold H20 was spilled down the front of his neck. Jim shivered and shot the Indian leaning over him a look of extreme annoyance.
John dropped the empty dipper back into the bucket beside him and started getting to his feet. "I think I'll go see about that broth now," he muttered, suppressing a smile.
Jim managed a slight smile himself. "Take your time!" he called out after his departing friend. With his stomach now full of water, there was no room left for food. The cowboy forgot all about food and lay there with his attention focused on an odd-looking wooden-framed contraption covered with half-inch wide strips of leather lattice. He hadn't noticed the thing before because the young brave's body had been blocking it from his very limited view. He continued to stare thoughtfully at the odd-looking object until Mr. Two Rivers returned. "Is that...for me?" he asked as the Indian knelt once again at his side.
John followed his friend's gaze and nodded rather reluctantly.
Jim's very drawn and deathly-pale looking face lit up, "Did you...make it?"
The Indian gave him another reluctant nod.
He gave the Indian a grateful smile, "Then...on behalf a' me...an' my backside...thank you very much...for yore very thoughtful...gift."
"I see you have figured out what it is for," John realized rather glumly.
"It's for...proppin' a person up...so's he kin eat...an' drink...an' see...what all is goin' on...around 'im," Jim acknowledged with a grin and an obvious look of keen anticipation.
John Two Rivers saw his patient's look and suddenly looked a little nervous.
"That is...what it's for...ain't it?"
John managed another reluctant nod.
Jim looked relieved, then somewhat confused, "Well...what's the matter?...Is there some...problem?"
The Indian stared glumly down at his gift. "The problem is, I came uncomfortably close to killing you once already, my friend. And I have no intention of possibly doing it again. I was going to wait until you were much stronger--and not quite so sick--before giving this to you."
"I'm strong enough now," Jim assured him,"An' it's my eyes...that are so si-ick...so sick an' tired...a' starin' up...at those stupid lodge poles...all the time!"
Mr. Two Rivers remained unconvinced, "Your friends wouldn't move you. They were afraid it would kill you," he added solemnly.
"Yeah...well, a week ago...it probably would a'!" his patient freely admitted. "But...since then...my insides have had...a chance ta heal...No-ow...it's my backside...that's killin' me...So please...let me sit up?...I got ta sit up!...Even if it kills me!" the cowboy added, looking and sounding equally solemn.
John looked rather pensive for a few long, anxious moments. But then his troubled face brightened with a sympathetic smile and he surrendered. "As you wish, Windrider. But, if anything happens to you now, remember--this time--it was your idea," he teased in an attempt to dispel the morbid mood of the moment.
It worked. The grin returned to Jim's gravely ill face, "Don' worry...I'll remember," he promised.
The Indian vanished from the tent again and then returned a few moments later with some reinforcements in tow. John gave the two braves standing at his side some orders in Comanche and then passed on a few more orders to his patient--in plain English. "You lie perfectly still and let them do all the lifting."
Now, there were two orders the cowboy couldn't've disobeyed--even if he'd a' wanted to. Jim was too weak to even move a muscle and too dizzy to even raise his head up off of his buffalo robe bed.
The two braves lifted him--buffalo robes and all. The 'person propper-upper' was placed under him, and he--and his bed--were gently lowered down onto it. The relatively simple--and completely painless--procedure was all over within seconds.
Ji-im, who suddenly found himself sitting up somewhat, couldn't seem to stop smiling, "Thanks," he told the two braves as they stood and turned to leave. "How do you say..thank you...in Comanche?" he inquired of his interpretor--as the two braves failed to respond.
John suppressed another smile, "Sho`-dohn-tay."
"Sho`-dohn-tay!" the cowboy shouted, just as the two men were about to disappear.
They turned back for a moment, looking somewhat surprised, and gave the young cowboy two solemn nods--before quietly departing.
"I'm afraid my people do not have much use for manners," John explained, seeing his friend staring at the tent flap in confusion.
The cowboy glanced around the entire tent and then turned back to him, looking even more confused.
"And 'Crown's woman' has gone to gather more firewood," the Indian added.
Jim breathed a long, relaxed sigh and then flashed his handy friend a warm, relaxed smile, "Sho`-dohn-tay again...We`-yo-wa-su`-yen...I really do...appreciate...you makin' this...for me."
John smiled, "Ho-ee`-ee-tuk nas-ish` su-er`-jen...Mas-ne-dan`-tas," he told him truthfully. Then accompanied his statement with a translation, "You are most welcome, my friend...Windrider," he said and then held a bowl of steaming-hot broth up to his friend's mouth, "Now, shut up and eat!"
Jim's parched lips formed a grin again and then parted to allow a few long swallows of the hot, tasty broth to be poured down his hatch. "She got...a name?" he wondered, "Besides 'Crown's woman'...I mean."
John was planning to remain silent and thus discourage any further conversation or questions. But it quickly became apparent that his patient wasn't going to 'eat' if he wasn't going to 'answer'. So the Indian sighed in surrender and begrudgingly replied, "Ko-ree-ray`-ohn."
Jim smiled approvingly,"That sounds...almost as pretty...as she looks...What does it mea--?"
"'Little fawn hiding in the shadows'," John replied impatiently, "Now, finish eating!"
Jim's smile broadened, "Oh yeah...that's pretty, all right...an' it fits her, too...Although...when she's around me...she looks more like a...'she-wolf'...hidin' in the shadows...When she comes back...will you tell her...she has a real pretty...name?"
"No!" John answered adamantly, "I am a married man," he reminded his now perplexed looking patient. "If you want her to hear things like that, you will have to tell them to her yourself," he teased.
"Some 'translator'...you turned out...ta be," the cowboy teased right back.
"Oh, I'll translate it for you, all right. The Comanche version is, 'Ko-ree-ray`-ohn shu`-cu-mar."
"Ko-ree-ray`ohn...shu`-cu-mar," Jim copied in a weak whisper.
John frowned, seeing that his friend now appeared either too tired--or too ill to finish eating.
"Ko-ree-ray`-ohn...shu`-cu-mar," Jim Crown's drooping eyelids closed, "Koree-ray`-ohn...shu`-cu-mar," he repeated over and over again. Until he at last fell asleep.
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The young cowboy dozed the rest of the day away and awoke, later that evening, feeling slightly delirious--and a whole lot sicker. It was dark outside--and would have been dark inside, too, if it weren't for the fire blazing brightly in the center of the tent.
"I see my...woman...made it back...with the wood," Jim told Mr. Two Rivers.
"Shhhhh!" Mr. Two Rivers told him and placed a fresh, cool compress on his feverish friend's burning forehead. "Try not to talk," John whispered back solemnly, "You must save your strength."
"How kin you people...jes' sit there like that?...Hou-our... after hou-our...after hour," the cowboy inquired, staring first at John--and then at the girl kneeling at his knees--in absolute amazement, "I would think...it would have a tendency...ta cut off...the circulation...ta yore legs...Ah-ah...ain't that somethin'...the way the light from the fire...flickers...on her hair...Yah know...it may be jes'...the fever...playin' tricks on me...but she sure seems...ta be sittin'...a lot closer...now."
John gave the girl a disgusted glare, "She draws comfort from your pain. She draws strength from your weakness. She draws courage from your fear. And so, she draws 'closer' now," he explained bitterly.
Jim turned back in his bitter friend's direction, "That's a right touchin'...interpretation...a' the situation here...John Two Rivers...Not very comfortin'...but right touchin'...You seem ta have...a real wa-ay with wor--" the cowboy was cut off suddenly by a loud, sharp cry.
The cry sounded very close--and sort of like a cross between a Comanche 'war whoop'...and a woman in labor. Seconds later, a ghostly apparition appeared inside the tent. It stood there, motionless for a moment--looming ominously over him--silhouetted against the fire...onto which it had tossed some powdery substance--which made the flames flare up brilliantly and lit the whole area inside of the tent up, momentarily, bright as day. Then it let loose with another loud, sharp cry and began darting quickly about.
Jim had been partially blinded by the flash of light, so he was only able to catch a brief glimpse of the goulishy grotesque 'thing'.
The shadowy figure was incredibly fast-moving, fierce-looking, and foul-smelling--and seemed to be completely covered with a combination of both fur and feathers. Its horned head was huge--and hideous to look at. It hopped about on one leg for a time, 'howling' like a hurting hound dog. After that, it whirled around a while longer, 'screaming' like a wounded banshee. Then it stopped and shook a curiously-shaped, ornately-carved stick in the young cowboy's face a few times...before it finally vanished--with a flourish and a flair--back out through the tent flap...and into the darkness--from whence it had come.
...O-Or had it?
"There is no need for you to be alarmed, Windrider," John assured his rather alarmed looking patient, "That was just 'Grey Dog'...again," he added, looking and sounding completely bored by the whole proceeding.
Jim looked and felt somewhat relieved, "Then...you...saw it, too?"
"Yes. And I have seen it more than once," John announced, looking and sounding more unimpressed, "Grey Dog has been coming in here and screaming at you like that every night for the past five nights! And each night he screams a little louder. I think I shall have to have a talk with him tomorrow. He is beginning to get on my nerves."
Jim looked amused and then worried, "You bes' be careful what you say...He seems...ta be a real...excitable...sort...What was all that...screamin' about...anyways?"
"Grey Dog is a healer...the most powerful 'medicine man' in the village. Because of this, Chief Pe-ro`-ka-mas` asked him to try to awaken Windrider from the sleep of death."
"So-o...what did Mr. Grey Dog...have ta say?"
"He sai-aid that your coming here was good medicine for our people," John replied, keeping his answer short and sweet.
A little too short as far as Jim Crown was concerned. "Bu-ut...?" the cowboy filled in, encouraging a continuance of the 'translation'.
"Bu-ut that it has proved to be very bad medicine for you," his interpretor reluctantly continued.
"Truer words...were never spoken!" the slightly delirious cowboy declared amid soft laughter. "Although...come ta think of it...the medicine was very good...actually...it was jes' the taste...that proved very ba-ad," he added lightly and the sound of his soft laughter continued. The highly amused man looked thoughtful for a few moments and then gradually fell as silent as his friend. "Somethin' tells me...that there's still somethin'...that you ain't 'translatin'' here...Mr. Two Rivers," he quickly and quietly realized.
John frowned and forced himself to finish 'interpreting' the rest of Grey Dog's screamings, "He...claims that you are...dying here...that this place continues to hold very bad medicine for you. And that, if you do not leave this place, IMMEDIATELY...you will surely...die."
Windrider's slightly glazed eyes widened for a moment and then sparkled with amusement, "Well...don't jes' sit there!...Go get me my ho-orse!" he requested lightly.
The Indian's eyes narrowed and his frown deepened, "I only hope that my Chief takes Grey Dog as seriously as you do. Because you are too sick to travel. You must not be moved!"
"Surely one place...ta 'surely die'...is surely as good...as another," the somewhat delirious cowboy quipped somewhat philosophically.
"Perhaps," John admitted softly, following a long, solemn silence, "But Windrider will not die! I will not let them kill you!"
Jim gave his 'bodyguard' a grateful smile and then turned his attention to the tent's entrance as the rawhide flaps rustled and two familiar figures appeared.
It was Chief Pe-ro`-ka-mas`--and his main medicine man.
"Ah-ish`-nay! Com-pah-ee-ay`-ho! San`-te-ba! Ruk-ee-ohn`-ay! Meh`-rah!" Grey Dog screamed rather excitedly and then prodded the young cowboy in the ribs with his 'spirit' stick--for added emphasis.
"Tell yore Chief...that I understand," Jim Crown requested, when he finally recovered, "And...that I will leave here...immediately...If someone'll help me up on my horse..." he added conditionally.
"No-o!" John Two Rivers shouted angrily, "You must not be moved!" The Indian suddenly looked thoughtful, "Is Windrider so sick with fever that he no longer cares about dying?" he inquired, sounding rather sad and terribly disappointed.
The cowboy's tired eyes glistened as the light from the fire was reflected in his tears, "Windrider does care...that he's dyin'," he assured his upset friend softly, "He jes' don' care whe-ere...Besides," he added lightly, "I got enuff problems...at the moment...without makin'...the most powerful medicine man...in the entire village...mad at me."
Mr. Two Rivers' eyes moistened and he managed a sad smile, "Perhaps you are right, Windrider. Grey Dog would grant you no peace if you were to stay," he realized glumly. And then reluctantly passed his patient's reply onto his Chief.
The old brave looked both pleased and relieved to hear the young cowboy's reply.
The Chief's main medicine man managed a smile of deep satisfaction as well. Then the two of them quickly took their leave.
"Chief Pe-ro`-ka-mas` has gone to make the necessary arrangements for your 'immediate' departure from this place," the remaining Indian informed the now confused looking cowboy.
The cowboy looked even more confused and somewhat amused again, "What...necessary arrangements?...Jes' strap me ta my saddle...an' give my horse...one...good...'whack'!" he suggested with a smile.
Mr. Two Rivers managed another sad smile, "Windrider will be leaving this place, but 'we' will not be leaving Windrider. We will continue to care for you, my friend. At this very moment, another place is being prepared for you somewhere out there--just beyond the boundaries of this camp. The new place must be chosen very carefully. To make certain that it holds only good medicine for you, Grey Dog will--no doubt--pick it out personally."
Windrider was deeply touched by the continued concern that was being shown for his welfare. "Yea-eah...But why go through...all that bother?" he teased, in an attempt to erase some of the sadness from his friend's smile, "When my way...is so much easier...I'm tellin' yah...jes' one..good... 'whack'...an' I'm go-one!"
His light comments only succeeded in turning John's smile even sadder, "Believe me, it is no bother. The Comanche value courage very highly. So we consider it an honor to care for you."
The cowboy was even more deeply moved and he had to really struggle now to keep from slipping into a real melancholy mood. "Yeah? Well...I consider it...an even greater honor...to be cared for by you," he assured his sad friend softly--and then quickly turned away. Jim could no longer bare the sight of his companion's 'sadder than sad' smile. The sight that now greeted him, instead, gave him such a start that it very nearly put a stop to his already weakened heart! The girl--his woman--was now kneeling right there beside him! Right there at the level of his shoulder! He tensed and then made a rather feeble--and futile--attempt to pull further away from her. 'She draws comfort from your pain. She draws strength from your weakness. She draws courage from your fear. And so, she draws closer now...' His interpretor's words echoed through his feverish brain. Then he gradually untensed again as he suddenly remembered something else. "Ko-ree-ray`-ohn...shu`-ku-mar," he whispered softly.
The girl recoiled from his words and the already intense look of 'blind hatred' burned even brighter in her smouldering, dark eyes.
Jim Crown's tired eyes filled with tears and his sad face filled with pain and anguish, "Damn the men...that put that...hatred...in yore eyes!" he cried out angrily. Then he swallowed hard and tried blinking his blurring vision clear. But it was blurring faster than he could blink. So he gave up trying and just lay there--crying. "If you could draw joy...from my sorrow...Crown's woman...would be the happiest woman...in the whole world...'cuz I am...so very...very sorry...for what those men who kill the buffalo did...ta you an' yore mother...I'm sorry they killed her," he continued as the tears continued to stream silently down both sides of his anguished face. "But...mostly...I'm sorry...that they had ta kill...the little fawn...hidin' in the shadows..." He let his soft-spoken words trail off. His watering eyes closed, but then quickly reopened as something else suddenly occured to him, "Will you draw life... from my death?...'Cuz...if my dyin'...will bring the...'little fawn'... back ta life...then I won't mind dyin'...quite so much," he finished rather deliriously. Then he shut his watering eyes tightly and began tossing his feverish and aching head from side-to-side.
"You will not die, Jim Crown!" the young brave shouted and gripped the young cowboy's wrist reassuringly.
Jim Crown's hot and dizzy head was pounding painfully--and at least two beats faster than his heart...which wasn't pounding quite right. And he seemed to be growing weaker and weaker now with each passing second. "Hold on ta that thought...John Two Rivers," he told the Indian on his left, before turning back to the Indian on his right--and forcing his tired, still damp eyes back open, "You are free now...You belong ta nobody...but yourself...So you kin...come an' go...as you like...because...Ko-ree-ray`-ohn...is free-ee," he repeated. Then he grimaced and groaned as the loud, painful throbbing in his head proceeded to block out any further thoughts. Until he finally--mercifully--'blacked out' completely.
John watched helplessly as his friend's feverish head suddenly rolled to one side and he was still again. Again the cowboy's pale face bore that death-like 'pallor'. The brave glanced up at the girl and saw that she now seemed perfectly calm and contented again as she knelt there, quietly, keeping her death-bed vigil. "Get OU-OUT!" Jim Crown's friend shouted suddenly--in Comanche, "You are no longer Crown's woman! You are not nearly good enough for him! Jim Crown is white only on the outside! Inside, in here--in his heart--he is Indian! Jim Crown is a good, kind, brave and gentle man! Any girl who got to know him--as I have come to know him--would be proud to be called his woman!" John stopped shouting all of a sudden and stared sadly down at his dying friend, "He...knows that he is...dying," he continued, translating Jim Crown's touching comments into Comanche. "He is very sorry for what those whites did to you and your mother. He wants only for you to be happy again. He hopes that his death will somehow 'settle the score' for you, so that the 'she-wolf' can stop 'hating'...and the 'little fawn' can start 'living' again. He has given you your freedom. It is his wish that you no longer stay with him against your will. I will explain the situation to our Chief. We will be leaving here shortly. You will not have to come with us." John gave the girl one last disgusted gla-are--then he got stiffly to his feet and stepped outside for a moment--to check on the progress of those 'necessary arrangements' that were being made.
The girl watched him leave and then turned her attention back to the dying young white. She no longer looked--or felt--so complacent. We-yo-wa-su`-yen's words had deeply disturbed her. It had been so long since she had felt anything inside her but hate, that she wasn't quite sure just how his words had affected her. One moment, she was feeling anger...the next, relief...the next, happiness...the next, compassion...the next, doubt...the ne-ext, sadness...and--lastly--mostly--confusion! She was so confused now, she didn't know what to think...o-or what she should do. She stared down at the dying young white man looking completely confused. She wanted to see him dead! Didn't she? Of course she did! But that was before We-yo-wa-su`-yen's 'disturbing' words were spoken. What did she want no-ow? She was no longer certain. She reached slowly out and tenderly traced the path of a drying tear down the right side of the cowboy's burning cheek. The 'words' may well have been 'lies'. But the 'tears'...they were real enough--and they had been shed in her behalf! This cowboy, Crown--this 'rider of the wind'--had felt her hurt even more strongly than his own. Perhaps, at one time, she, too, would have been capable of showing such compassion...perhaps. But that was long ago! Six 'moons' ago--to be exact. Since that dreadful day, she had allowed herself to feel only hatred...for the 'white' seed that had been planted inside her...and for all other 'whites', as well! A burning hatred so intense that it totally consumed her! And, as she continued staring down at the dying 'white' before her, it blazed back up in her smouldering, dark eyes. But then, We-yo-wa-su`-yen's 'disturbing' words came echoing back to disturb her again. 'Jim Crown is not a 'white'. Inside--in his heart--he is Indian. He is good and kind and brave and gentle.' She should be proud to be called his woman. The girl's cold, hard, hate-filled eyes softened as the look of uncertainty returned to them. What should she do? Thanks to the kind and compassionate young cowboy, she was now free to decide.
But she wasn't given a whole lot of time to make her decision for Chief Pe-ro-ka`-mas re-entered the tent just then, scooped the unconscious cowboy carefully up off his buffalo robe bed and carried him effortlessly off out into the night.
The girl decided to follow along--at a discreet distance.
All the jostling about--coupled with the sudden, drastic change in air temperature--revived Windrider...at least, to some degree. His gaze remained rather groggy and he was still quite delirious. "That ain't...my horse," he observed as he was carried up to a magnificent white stallion that was being all decked out in feathers and painted up for battle. "Is it?" he wondered as We-yo-wa-su`-yen suddenly appeared there before him--in the darkness.
"My Chief has given you his most prized possession--his war pony," Mr. Two Rivers replied as he helped his Chief place the critically ill cowboy carefully down onto the blanket litter resting on the ground behind this--his latest gift. "It is the wish of my Chief that Windrider should live a long, full life. He believes his war pony carries very powerful medicine. And that you will be able to draw strength from the stallion as it carries you safely along on your journey to a...better place."
The cowboy completely ignored his interpretor's rather eloquent explanation and came forth with the following comment, "But...I already got...a horse."
Which caused his eloquent friend to exhale a sigh of surrender, "Yes. And now you also possess a powerful war pony. And, please, do not worry about my Chief. He has many other ponies. Besides, since there are no more 'wars', he no longer has any need for a 'war pony'."
Grey Dog came dancing along just then, rattling his beads and chanting those excited incantations of his.
The cowboy could just barely see the silhouette of the medicine man's buffalo skull headdress against the quarter-moon sky. But he could sure feel the pain in his chest as the impatient--unpredictable--Grey Dog proceeded to prod him a few more times in the ribs with his spirit stick. "All right!..All right!...I'm goin'! I'm goin'!" the cowboy assured him when he recovered. But the painful poking continued.