Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Suzette would have liked nothing better than to never see Black Lion again.
Most certainly it would have been preferable if this could have been accomplished.
Alas, such was all but impossible with a show like this.
Though the Wild West Show employed over three hundred people, and there were more than enough women to act out the various parts required, Suzette had somehow found herself being pulled into the show.
Perhaps it was because she was accustomed to the stage, and Buffalo Bill, recognizing her ease in it, had put it to work for him.
Or maybe it was simply fate.
Whatever it was, only two days after her argument with Black Lion, Suzette found herself acting out the role of the wife in the “Attack upon the Settler’s Cabin” scene. It was a Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining, the air was cool, and this was the first show of the day.
Standing before the log cabin, which was fashioned exactly as the settler’s homes used to be, Suzette was dressed in an old-fashioned blue-and-white plaid gingham wrapper, complete with a white bonnet on her head.
According to script, her character was to exit the cabin, as though she were to attend to her washing.
She was to hear a noise of some kind, glance up at the roof and see the Indian, who was crawling into a shooting position.
This was her cue to scream a warning to her “husband” who was working in the fields, run back into the cabin and emerge from it again, this time holding a shotgun.
All this she did according to script, but upon reappearing at the door of the cabin with her rifle, she discovered something was wrong.
The Indian on her roof, who was supposed to be a man by the name of Flies Over, wasn’t there.
Instead, the Indian atop her cabin was the spitting image of Black Lion.
Drat! She glanced upward again. It was Black Lion.
Unfortunately for her heart, he looked uncannily handsome, dressed as he was in only breechcloth, leggings and moccasins.
Setting her lips into a frown, she braced herself against the sight, wondering sarcastically how many horses he’d had to trade with Flies Over in order to take his place. Oh, to have some real ammunition.
At this point in the script she was supposed to run to the cornfield to try to help her settler husband who was battling with another Indian. Except before she took her cue, she aimed her gun carefully at Black Lion and pulled the trigger.
Of course there were no bullets in the shotgun, but there was a wad of paper that hit him square in the cheek nonetheless.
Obviously, it startled him, as he probably hadn’t expected Suzette to vary from the script.
Glancing down at her, he retaliated and trained a rubber-tipped arrow on her, though it missed her by a wild mark.
“You’re dead,” she shouted at him. “I got you fair and square. Fall over.” She waved her arm at him.
Luckily, there was so much commotion and so many other dramas going on around them, no one seemed to pay the two of them the least attention, which made it very likely no one else saw him wink at her. This was not the point. She’d gotten him.
“You realize, of course,” she said, “that if this were real life, you would never be able to tie me up later because I got you. You’re supposed to be dead now.”
Remaining silent, Black Lion shook his head at her. Then, instead of keeping to the script himself, he climbed down to the cabin’s edge, where, with a carefully aimed jump down, he landed behind her.
Grabbing hold of her from her backside, he dragged her to the ground and began to gently tie her hands above her head. She struggled with him, fighting like a she-cat defending her territory. In truth, she almost won the fight, for he seemed leery about overly handling her.
Still he held her. “Why are you not following the script?” she shouted at him.
“Because you are not, and because I have come to take my wife home.”
“I am not your wife,” she yelled.
“You are. If I have to tie you up and steal you in front of these thousands of people and take you with me out of this arena, I will, for I would have Rabbit Leggings tell you why she said what she did two days ago.”
“After you have paid her and told her what to say?”
“Eya, do you think so little of me?”
“Oh, much less. Much less.”
“Then you give me no choice. I will tie you up, set you on my horse and ride with you out of the arena.”
“And you’ll find yourself in a lot of trouble, Mr. Lion.”
“Perhaps I will, but I think it is worth the chance.”
“Very well, do it,” she challenged, even as she fought with him. But he had already finished the task of tying her hands. “I warn you,” she screamed above the commotion, “there will be consequences.”
“I am prepared to take them.”
“Oh!” She kicked out at him.
Immediately, he seized her legs. “Thank you for reminding me to tie your feet as well.” He accomplished the deed as if she were a steer and he a rodeo performer.
Then, picking her up, he raced to a pony another Indian held for him.
Running the knife through the rope that held her feet in place, he positioned her on the animal first, not giving her a chance to kick out at him, while he jumped up behind her.
Nodding to his friend, Black Lion set her comfortably before him, picked up the reins, and spurring the pony into action, raced out of the arena.
No one followed him. In truth, most of the performers were so embroiled in their own actions, only a few noticed the script was no longer being followed.
However, little did the two of them realize that the audience had followed their antics and had gone wild over what they thought was a performance.
As Black Lion raced out of the arena with his captive, the audience went into a frenzy, jumping to their feet with applause.
It was then when Buffalo Bill noticed the two of them and what they were doing. But was it for good or for bad?
“Him…husband”—Rabbit Leggings pointed to Black Lion—“him…told me…say that…to you.”
Shaking off the ropes which had held her hands tied and dismounting from the pony while shooing away Black Lion’s attempts to help, Suzette turned on him.
“Why have you gone to this much trouble to get me here? If I am to understand this correctly, Rabbit Leggings is saying you are her husband. This hardly seems to prove your point.”
They were standing within the shadows of the arena.
In truth, Black Lion hadn’t needed to take Suzette as far as his camp.
Rabbit Leggings awaited them here. Said Black Lion, “What Rabbit Leggings means is I had asked her to tell any white person who might come to the camp that she was married to me. You do recall that in order to be with the show, I am supposed to be married.”
“I hardly think I have need of an interpreter between myself and Rabbit Leggings. I do understand English, and pray, I didn’t hear her say all of what you are saying. And you have yet to answer me about what she was doing in your lodge first thing in the morning.”
“I come…visiting… It…truth…” said Rabbit Leggings. “Him…tell me…be wife.”
Suzette closed her eyes and sighed. “First thing in the morning?”
“But…it…true.”
Suzette moaned, then turned to Black Lion. “So what you both are saying,” she began sarcastically, “is Rabbit Leggings decided to come visiting you in the wee hours of the morning—before you were even awake? And—”
“You! The both of you! Come here!”
Riding a snowy white horse out of the arena, Buffalo Bill galloped to within a few yards of them.
Suzette exchanged a glance with Black Lion, whispering under her breath, “See? I told you there would be trouble.”
Buffalo Bill said loudly, “What was that all about, and whose idea was it to change the script?”
Exchanging a glance between them, Suzette and Black Lion both spoke at the same time. “The idea was mine.”
Black Lion sent Suzette a private look of amazement, as though he couldn’t believe, in the face of everything else, this woman—who was truly his wife—was coming to his defense.
In turn, she frowned at him. True, she would protect him from trouble, but it certainly didn’t mean she was feeling amiable toward him. Indeed, much the opposite.
Buffalo Bill appeared puzzled. Leaning forward on his horse, he said, “You both came up with the idea then?”
“Well,” began Suzette, “after the stagecoach scene the other day, I thought—”
“It was my idea, sir. The responsibility is mine, and mine alone,” said Black Lion. “And I will understand if you feel it necessary to discharge me.”
“Discharge you? Discharge you? Why, I’m going to give you a raise. It was brilliant!” said Cody. “Completely brilliant! And the crowd loved it! Did you see them standing in their seats? Even now they’re calling for you both to come back into the arena. You’re not going to disappoint them, are you?”
“But, Mr. Cody,” said Suzette, “I think that—”
“Come here now, Miss Joselyn. You ride that pony”—he waved toward the Appaloosa—“while the Indian— What’s your name?”
“Two Bears, but most people call me Lion.”
“Good enough…you ride, Miss Joselyn, while Lion here guides the pony back into the arena. When you’ve reached the center point, stop and take a bow.
We’ll talk about this more later, and what sort of raise you’ll be looking for.
Come to think of it”—he scratched his beard—“we could expand on the theme and rescue the lady from the Indian village later in the presentation…maybe even this one. Are you both up to it?”
Suzette smiled at Cody, while Black Lion frowned. But neither of them said a word.
“Come on now.” Buffalo Bill directed the two of them as he kept his seat on the elegant white horse. “You, Lion, help the lady back up onto her seat.”
When Black Lion hesitated, Cody said, “Come now, I know it goes against your warrior reasoning, but help her up there anyway, and then come back in for a bow…both of you.”