Ten Bears shifted and spoke, saying the words in a way that made it seem like he was talking in his sleep.
“I have been thinking about what you said . . . what you said about your reasons for going away.”
Suddenly his eyes flew open and Dances With Wolves was startled by their brightness. They were glittering like stars.
“You can go away from us anytime you like . . . but not for those reasons. Those reasons are wrong. All the hair-mouth soldiers in the world could search our camp and none would find the person they are looking for, the one like them who calls himself Loo Ten Nant.”
Ten Bears spread his hands slightly and his voice shook with glee. “The one called Loo Ten Nant is not here. In this lodge they will only find a Comanche warrior, a good Comanche warrior and his wife.”
Dances With Wolves let the words sink in. He peeked over his shoulder at Stands With A Fist. He could see a smile on her face; but she was not looking his way. There was nothing he could say.
When he looked back he found Ten Bears staring down at a nearly finished pipe that was poking out of its case. The old man pointed a bony finger at the object of his interest.
“You are making a pipe, Dances With Wolves?”
“Yes,”
Ten Bears held out his hands and Dances With Wolves placed the pipe in them. The old man brought it close to his face, running his eyes up and down its length.
“This might be a pretty good pipe. . . . How does it smoke?”
“I don’t know,” Dances With Wolves replied. “I haven’t tried it yet.”
“Let’s smoke it a while,” Ten Bears said, handing the pipe back. “It’s good to pass the time this way.”
CHAPTER XXXI
It was a winter for staying under the robes. Except for an occasional hunting party the Comanches rarely ventured out of their lodges. The people spent so much time around their fires that the season came to be known as the Winter of Many Smokes.
By spring everyone was anxious to move, and at the first breaking of the ice they were on the trail again.
A new camp was set up that year, far from the old one near Fort Sedgewick. It was a good spot with plenty of water and grass for the ponies. The buffalo came again by the thousands and the hunting was good, with very few men getting hurt. Late that summer many babies were born, more than most people could remember.
They stayed far from the traveled trails, seeing no white men and only a few Mexican traders. It made the people happy to have so little bother. But a human tide, one that they could neither see nor hear, was rising in the east. It would be upon them soon. The good times of that summer were the last they would have. Their time was running out and would soon be gone forever.