Somewhere, within a mile or so, our women were prisoners. Itchakomi would be taken back to Natchez and the villages on the great river, but there was no reason to believe they would keep either the Ponca woman or Keokotah's woman alive.
"We will go now," I said at last. "You go toward the river and mountains. I will go toward the river and the plains. If you find nothing, come here at daybreak. If I am not here I have found them, and you can come to me. And if I return and you are not here, I will know you have found them.
"If either of us finds them, he will do what he can."
We parted in the night. He went westward and north, and I turned toward the east and north, angling across the country, feeling my way at first, and then weaving through the trees. My route was a zigzag, to cover as much ground as possible.
How many warriors did he have with him now? It would be a good-sized party, a dozen at least. He might have lost men. It was doubtful if he had recruited any.
The trees were thick along the slope, and I edged between them, taking each step with care and testing the earth before resting my weight. A snapping branch could be the end of me.
It was a slow, painstaking search, and I was filled with impatience. What I would do if I found them I had no idea.
On cat feet I went down over the rocks and into the trees again. Not far away was the river, and it was likely they had gone where they knew there would be water. They might not have a fire, but they would wish to drink and they would eat and rest.
There was a musty smell of rotting vegetation, the smell of pines--after a time the nose becomes sensitive to the very slightest odor. I was going steeply down a slope now, using the trees to help, gripping first one and then another.
How dark was the forest! My eyes, accustomed to the darkness, identified the trees and the shadows. A heavy odor in the air, a dampness on a tree against which I rested my hand. My fingers felt around on the bark and snagged a long hair.
A wet bear had come this way, perhaps within the last thirty minutes, a very large bear that had probably just swum the river. That stopped me. I had no desire to come upon a full-grown grizzly bear in the night.
Abruptly I changed direction, starting once more toward the river. Suddenly I stopped. What it was I had no idea, but I stopped on one foot, hesitating to lower the other.
Something, some sound in the night! I waited. A sound? Or a smell?
Something rustled, moved, and then I heard a faint mutter as of a sleeper in the night. Waiting, listening--a smell of fresh-cut wood! Of pine boughs for ... a bed? A bed for Itchakomi?
There were some Natchee Indians with Kapata. They would prepare the bower in which Itchakomi would sleep. They had done so, and she was near, very near.
With infinite care I drew back my foot and put it down, testing the earth as it came to rest. Slowly, carefully, I backed away. When a dozen yards away, I stopped and crouched at the base of a tree to think.
Their camp was here. They would move at dawn. Had I stepped into their camp I might have been overpowered by a half dozen braves.
At daybreak they would move. At daybreak Keokotah would come to join me, so I must stop them. I must not permit them to move.
Before daybreak I would attack. Or ... the thought came suddenly, should I challenge Kapata?
Should I challenge his courage? His leadership? Demand he fight me for Itchakomi?
If I appeared and challenged him, would he accept the challenge? Or would they all attack me at once? He was several inches taller than me, and he was heavier.
Dawn was hours away. I would rest, and when the day came, make my decision then. On a bed of moss near several trees, I lay down and slept, tuning my mind to awaken before the first hint of light in the sky, and when I slept the great beast came again, the red-eyed monster with the elephant's trunk and the long hair. It loomed through the trees and came at me. It had great tusks that curved out before it and one was red with blood. It charged, but I stood my ground. Why did I not flee? Why did I stand there, spear in hand, as it rushed upon me?
My eyes wide open in the dark I stared up at the canopy of leaves above, and then I sat up, wiping sweat from my face. Was it a warning? If so, a warning of what? Was it a pre-vision of something to come? Of my death, perhaps?
At least it was a monster that would kill me, not Kapata.
Where was Keokotah? Had something happened to him? Or was he even now lying somewhere near and waiting for the dawn, as I was?
Standing up, I moved my arms about and my shoulders, loosening the muscles. I checked my weapons. The sky was faintly gray, and easing myself down through the trees again, I could make out their camp.
The fire, Indians lying about, and among the trees, Itchakomi's bower, and wonder of wonders, three Indians lying guard before it!
The Natchee! Had they proved loyal, after all? Or would they protect her only up to a point? Kapata was half a Natchee, and a warrior respected among them. Yet, obviously, the Natchee had moved to protect her as a Sun.
Taking up my bow and spear I walked down from the trees into their camp, and it was a Natchee who saw me first. He came to his feet suddenly, facing me.
"She is my woman," I said.
"She has said this. She bears your child."
Startled, I stared at him. Was this true? Or was it a trick she had used that might protect her?
A child? Well, why not? Now there was more than ever a reason to fight.
All about me the others were rising. My eyes swept the camp. Kapata was sitting on the grass where he had slept, his eyes alive with hatred.
"I have come," I said, "to fighthim ." I glanced around again. "None of you.Him! He wanted my woman. Very well, let him fight for her."
They sat still, staring at me. The Tensa were fierce warriors and they wished to kill me, but I had challenged Kapata, so the fight was his.
Keokotah stood up in the trees away from the camp, overlooking all of it. "Let them fight," he said.
Itchakomi came from her bower and stood tall, looking across the fire at me. Crossing to her I took the twin guns from my waist and placed them on the ground at her feet.
"The voice that kills at a distance I shall leave with Itchakomi," I said. Turning on Kapata I drew my knife. "Come!" I invited. "We will see if a Karankawa can bleed!"
He came off the ground like a large cat, his knife drawn, and he walked across the intervening grass to meet me. His contempt was obvious. "You fool!" he said. "I kill!"
His reach was much greater than mine, but my father had taught us all something of English boxing, so when he made a sweeping cut from right to left I used a boxer's sidestep to my left. The wicked slash of his knife cut only the air where I had been, and my backward cut scratched the skin above his hip bone and drew blood.
Furious, he wheeled and came at me. The man was fast, faster than I would have believed, but I parried his blade with mine and we circled, warily. He thrust suddenly, right at my face, coming in with a long stride, and my head shifted only just in time. I had moved to the right, which put my knife blade too far from him, so I struck him in the stomach with my left fist.
It was totally unexpected. I doubt he had ever been struck with a fist before this, and it stopped him in his tracks. He gasped, for I had hit him in the wind, and before he could adjust I swung back with my blade. In stepping back, he fell and lay on the ground almost at my feet. I could have and should have killed him then but was averse to striking a man when he was down. So I stepped back, waving for him to come on.
He leapt to his feet and came at me and we circled and fought. Minutes passed, our blades clashed, there were lunges and parries. My boxing skills, little though they were, proved sufficient to counteract his greater reach. My refusal to accept the easy victory he had taken as a sign of contempt for him, and now he fought with unbelievable ferocity. A half dozen times I was nicked by his blade, and once I left a thin red line along his left arm.
The footing beneath us was uneven and scatte
red with broken branches, bits of bark, and small stones. Suddenly a stone rolled under my foot and I fell on my back and he came at me.
Thrusting up with my leg I caught him as he rushed upon me, my toe taking him in the pit of the stomach. I shoved up and back and threw him over my head to the ground beyond.
We came up as one and I thrust quickly, missed and fell on my face. Instantly, he was upon me, astride my back, and I knew his knife was lifting for the final stabbing blow. Swinging my arm up and back I drove my knife into his side between the ribs. His knife came down but I jerked hard to one side and the blade went into the earth alongside my neck.
Off balance, he was unable to properly resist my tremendous heave to get him off me and he fell free. Our knives clashed, but mine slipped by his and sank deep. He struggled to rise, throwing me back. Stabbed twice and deep, he came at me like a wildman, cutting and slashing.
Driven back, I slipped and fell, and he sprawled over me. Instantly I was up, and he came up also, but slower. He poised, eyes alive with hatred and fury, his blade steady.
"Now," he said, "I kill!"
He did not even seem aware that he was wounded, but rushed at me. Sidestepping away, I watched him. He was bleeding badly but was as intent on killing me as ever. He lunged at me, but I was prepared and sidestepped. But this time he was also prepared and moved aside with me. My knife was held low and I brought it up hard.
It went in to the hilt and for an instant we were eyeball to eyeball.
"You could have stayed in Natchez," I said in a conversational tone. I withdrew my knife, pushing him away. He fell to his knees, struggled to rise, and then just rolled over on the ground and lay still.
Kapata was dead.
Slowly, I turned about. Their eyes were on me. "Itchakomi is my woman," I said. "I have come for her."
A Tensa spoke, but I did not know his words. Keokotah explained. "He says she is your woman. They will go home now."
We watched them as they gathered their few belongings. I glanced at the three Natchee Indians, who stood uncertainly, unsure of their course.
"Komi? Are they good men?"
"I reminded them that I was a Daughter of the Sun. They guarded me. They knew their duty."
"If you wish they can remain with us. The choice is yours and theirs."
It had been obvious to me that they hesitated to return to Natchez. They had left with Kapata, who was considered a renegade by their people, but they were young and he had been persuasive. At the end they had proved their loyalty to Itchakomi.
She spoke to them and they listened, and then assented eagerly. They would stay with us, and I was not displeased. The addition of three strong warriors and hunters could only make us more secure.
"Now we shall go home, Itchakomi Ishaia. When again we come to our place I shall do what I have promised. You shall have your sacred fire. Never again will you be without it.
"Did not your Ni'kwana recognize me as a master of mysteries? Are you not a Child of the Sun? You shall have your sacred fire."
Chapter Thirty-Seven.
We walked again along the canyon trail, but now we walked in daylight, walked where no shadows were but those beneath the trees, walked among the blooming columbine, the cinquefoil, and the fireweed. We walked in quietness, for there was no need to speak.
Once, when we stopped to rest beside a spring, Itchakomi said to me, "You can do this? Bring fire from the Sun?"
"I can."
She was silent for a long time, stirring the water with a small twig, idly, thoughtfully. "I have missed the Fire." She looked up at me, her eyes large and beautiful. "I am happy with you, but I grew up tending the Fire. It is a part of me, a part of my life."
"I know."
"Have you known many Indian women?"
"Only a few. There was one. I saw her but once. She lived close to Jamestown and was friendly with the people there. Her name was Matoaka, but she was called Pocahontas. Pocahontas was what her father called her. In their language it means playful. She spoke our language quite well, I think."
"No others?"
"No Indians lived close to us. They came to trade and sometimes we went among them for the same reason, or to hunt with them."
"You do not take scalps. We heard that long before we met any of you, but we did not believe it. If one of our men falls in battle we take his scalp rather than let an enemy have it."
"Our child will be a Sun?"
"He will. If it is a boy, only during his lifetime; if a girl, for always. With us rank descends through the woman. Is it not so with your people?"
"Rank descends through the man."
"Hah! You must trust your women very much."
"Some of us do."
We walked on, and before us our valley opened and we looked upon the fort, our cornfield lying in the sun, and the wide meadows beyond where the long grass rippled in the slight breeze.
For a moment I stopped, considering. I must plant more corn, and melons as well. It was a rich valley, and here a man could build for the future. It was a wide land, a new land, and I was among the first to see it. Others would come. Oh, I had no doubt of that, for mine were a restless people, ever moving, ever seeking, ever reaching out.
They would come, and when they arrived I would be waiting for them. Some would have goods to trade, all would be needing food, advice, and knowledge of the country.
Now I had a child to consider, as well as a home for Itchakomi. But first, her sacred fire. We all are children of the sun. We had been given the sun to bring warmth and life to an otherwise dead world.
First, I needed to choose a place sufficiently impressive, and the rawboned mountain beyond our fort was such a place. I would clear a place of stones and debris, and then gather the fuel for a fire. And I would choose a day of bright sun, but first there was much else to do.
The Pawnees were gone. When time permitted I walked over their campsite and cleaned up what debris was left, little as it was.
Atop the mountain I cleared a spot of broken rock and debris, and then carefully constructed a cairn, or altar, using rocks that lay about, fitting them together with infinite care. The altar was four feet high and three feet to a side, with a large flat stone as the centerpiece. From trees not far away I gathered several old, long-deserted birds' nests, and about them I laid a network of twigs and small branches and then larger, heavier pieces. At the outer edge of the pile I placed a part of a bird's nest, several thin pieces of pitch pine, and shreds of bark. Unfortunately the wood of the white walnut could not be had, so I had chosen cedar instead.
Cedar was used in purification ceremonies in several tribes, and I believed it would be acceptable. We who are latecomers are forever curious as to the why of rituals, but the Indian asks no such questions. Having no written history or account of their rites, they have often forgotten the reason for certain rites, but the reason is not considered important. The ritual itself is enough. Many such ceremonies have continued for hundreds if not thousands of years. If Itchakomi would be happier with a sacred fire, she would have one, and her fire would be truly a gift of the sun.
With a wooden hoe carved by my own hands, I cultivated the corn. Often in the evenings I worked to create furniture for our house, and there was always much to do.
When the evenings were cool we walked out under the trees to look across at the Sangre de Cristos, bathed in the blood red of the setting sun, a red that lingered long after our valley was deep in shadow.
"What will your mother and sister be doing now?"
"Their home is in London now, I believe. They will be at home, or dressing to go out for the evening. I know so little of the life there.
"Brian will be with them, I expect. He will be quite the Englishman now, I believe. I wonder if he will have gone to visit the fens which were my father's home. The fens," I added, "are a vast lowland, some of it under water, but drained by many channels and openings. There is wild game there, many eels, geese, ducks, and pigeons, as well as
deer.
"My mother returned to England with several valuable gems found in Carolina. She inherited property from her father, also, I believe. They will be well off."
"Is it important to be well off?"
"It helps. Life is very hard for the poor, and for a young woman to marry well it is important that she have independent means. I believe young men think more of improving their position than of love."
"Your sister will marry there?"
"I expect, but about Noelle, one does not know. She is a girl of independent mind. She will go her own way, like the rest of us."
Deer had come from the woods and were grazing on the meadow before us. From where we stood I could see at least a dozen and several elk, bunched near some rocks some distance away.
Paisano came up from where he was feeding and stood near us, and I scratched his ear. He was huge now, a great shaggy bull that was like a puppy around us. Buffalo were considered stupid animals, but I did not find him so. I had, with some effort, convinced him to stay out of my cornfield, which I had fenced off with poles. Fences, I had learned, mean nothing to buffalo, who usually go where they wish, but Paisano had learned that the cornfield was off limits for him, and as there was no shortage of grass, he left the cornfield alone.
Winter was coming, however, and I resolved to cut some hay, enough to feed Paisano occasionally and to keep him reminded of where his home was.
There were tools we needed, but I dared not approach Santa Fe, where I would be considered an interloper and would be imprisoned and then sent down into Mexico for a trial, if I got one. Diego had implied he was interested in trade, but we had little to offer. We had some buffalo hides, as well as a few skins trapped the previous winter. This year I resolved to make a more thorough job of trapping.
Hand in hand, Komi walked with me to the fort. Keokotah was there, seated by the fire. The others were sleeping or busy with some of the many activities of our day-to-day lives.
For days now I had been watching the weather, and the days of mixed clouds and occasional rain seemed to be dwindling away for the time. When the sun was bright and the day hot I would bring the fire down for Itchakomi. Now there was something else of which I must know.
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