Savage Betrayal by Theresa Scott

the top and swung gracefully to the ground. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Fighting Wolf’s easy grin. Good!
    He exclaimed loudly to the bridegroom, “These games are no challenge! They’re for children, not Ahousat men!”
    Fighting Wolf laughed and Birdwhistle strode forward to collect his prize, a beautifully carved and decorated miniature cedar box.
    Thunder Maker glowered darkly. These Ahousats were insolent! That game should have challenged at least four or five men. Well, the Ahousat slave-faces would not find the next game quite so easy. Signaling briefly to one of his men, he gave the order to start the next contest.
    To Thunder Maker’s great disappointment, the Ahousats continued to easily win the games set out for them. The crowd cheered but Thunder Maker couldn’t watch as, again and again throughout the afternoon, the Ahousats upset the Hesquiat plans for humiliating them.
    Finally he could stand no more. The last game was one he had saved for just such an occasion. He whispered directions to Feast Giver.
    Ten Hesquiat men stepped forward and formed five pairs. The members of each pair faced the other across a space of two arm’s lengths. Feast Giver walked among the men, quickly handing burning brands of pitch to each. The fiery torches formed a flaming gauntlet that would challenge the staunchest Ahousat warrior. The acrid smell of smoking pitch tainted the air, and the crowd murmured happily. Here was a test to put those arrogant Ahousats in their place!
    Grimacing slightly, Fighting Wolf nodded quietly to one of his henchmen. Comes-from-Salish stood proudly in front of the gauntlet. He flexed his leg muscles by squatting on his haunches several times in succession. A fine figure of a man, he was middle-aged, broad-shouldered, with an innate sense of dignity. He was also that rare man: a freed slave.
    Originally a Salishan slave bought from the Neah Bay people, he had proved himself to be an exceptionally loyal and heroic man. One day on a sea lion hunt far out to sea, a mad bull sea lion attacked the canoe the slave and Birdwhistle occupied. Risking his own life, the slave saved the nobleman. When they returned to the village, Fighting Wolf was so impressed by the slave’s courage in saving a sometimes cruel master that he freed him and gave him a new name. From that time onwards, Comes-from-Salish had proven himself to be a strong fighter and the most loyal follower of the chief who freed him, Fighting Wolf.
    Comes-from-Salish was aware of the many pairs of eyes upon him. Ostensibly exercising, in reality he was waiting for the torches to burn down before attempting his run through the line of fire.
    At last, judging that the flames were reduced to the point where they would do him the least harm, he took several paces backwards from where the line of grinning men began. He paused for a moment, centering his thoughts on the feat he was about to perform.
    The crowd was still, their anticipation hanging in the air like a live thing. Suddenly, he took off at a run; head down, in a mad dash for the tiny tunnel of safety between the fiery walls.
    The watching throng gave a collective gasp, then began a voluble commentary on Comes-from-Salish’s performance as he ran.
    “He’s twisting and turning!”
    “Of course, fool! He doesn’t want to get burned!”
    “Look at him run! See! Someone just tried to trip him!”
    “He runs well…for an Ahousat!”
    “Ouch!”
    “Little Eel, get away from those torches! I won’t tell you again!”
    Dodging the men, Comes-from-Salish twisted his body away from the burning brands as he ran. Crouching low, he darted and wove his way through the line. Someone thrust a burning brand at his face. He ducked just in time, almost thrown off balance. He kept running. At last he was through!
    Taking a deep breath to still his heavy panting, he coughing on the acrid smoke and almost dropped to his knees in the sand, still panting heavily.
    Several Hesquiat