Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

“I don’t understand.”

  She shrugged. “Neither do I. But you always talk about how God answers prayers. Maybe he answered one tonight.”

  Her father’s smile was immediate. Raising her chin he studied her face. “Praise be to Him, Liza. I feared you would hate me forever. But I will keep my promise. And Crying Wind will keep his. Tomorrow we will send you on the first part of your journey home. Home,” he repeated. “I know your grand­parents will be delighted to have you. They said I was crazy from the start. Perhaps they were right.”

  “No, Papa—”

  “Don’t worry. How could I have expected you to share my dreams? And how could I ask you to give up your own dreams?” He sighed. “I have prayed you would understand, because I believe this is what the Lord sent me to do. Crying Wind, the Pikuni, they need me as much as I need them, even if I can’t stop the future from hurting them. Does that make sense?”

  Liza nodded. She understood far better than she dared admit. And, now, to go back? What was in St. Louis that wasn’t here?

  She turned her face toward the tiny opening where the moonlit sky twinkled. Out of the narrow opening a lazy smoke trail wafted up into the blackness and the moon, Old Night Light, seemed to be winking at her. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I’m not ready to leave, not yet.”

  He drew her close. “I’m happier than you can imagine.”

  She smiled as she looked up.

  In the doorway stood Crying Wind. Crow Woman was beside him, and a tear shimmered in her eye.

  CHAPTER 19

  The warriors hunted every day. Many of the buffalo hides would be traded to Riplinger, who ran a trading post several days’ ride to the northwest. Everyone looked for­ward to the big man’s arrival in camp; more and more Pikuni women wanted cloth and utensils, beads and trinkets.

  One day, Crying Wind and Red Eagle invited Liza to accompany them on a buffalo cow hunt. Liza and Crow Woman, both on foot, followed the hunters to a wide, high ridge where they watched as the men constructed the piskin, a funnel-like pathway. Hiding in the brush or along the cutbanks, the warriors kept the animals from breaking away until they finally chased them over the edge of the precipice.

  Unnerved by the animals’ howls, Liza jumped to her feet and started back for the village. Her stomach churned. The death cries were even more horrific than those in the first great hunt she witnessed.

  She heard a horse trotting up behind her and she glanced up at the rider.

  “I will take you back to camp,” said Red Eagle, pulling up alongside her.

  Liza took a deep breath and nodded. “I didn’t know death could be so terrible.”

  “The killing or the dying?” He leaned over and extended his right arm. Gripping it firmly, he swung her around onto the rump of the black mare. She wrapped her arms around Red Eagle’s middle, feeling him twitch as her fingers pressed against his belly.

  He turned slightly and smiled. Could he hear her heart thumping?

  They rode back to the village in silence.

  When they reached Crying Wind’s lodge, Red Eagle slid off first then turned and faced her. His hands encircled her waist, and suddenly, she hoped he would kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She felt paralyzed as his dark gaze held hers.

  “The children are watching,” he whispered, at last.

  “Yes, they are.” Her cheeks colored.

  Stepping out of the circle of her arms, he remounted and galloped back the way they had come.

  ****

  For several days, the women continued tanning hides and curing meat. Liza worked easily on the tasks Crow Woman assigned her; having done little physical labor back in St. Louis, she felt great satisfaction in the things she accomplished.

  She also began learning a few phrases in Blackfeet, though the language was difficult. Crow Woman was pleased with her progress and the two women laughed over her mis­takes.

  And her father grew strong enough to assist in simple jobs. Wrapped in his buffalo robes, he used an awl and sinew to stitch together a parfleche or other small item Crow Woman gave him. When he tired, he read aloud from his small pocket Bible as Liza and the other women worked.

  Meanwhile, Crying Wind instructed Rabbit, a man known for his artistic skill, to paint a new lodge being built for Many Words and Liza Five Shots. Rabbit painted images of her father and Liza, as well as an enormous bear, along the bottom edge.

  “It’s far bigger than the real one,” she told her father.

  He laughed, then said, “Are you sure?”

  One morning, Red Eagle stopped by the new lodge.

  Smiling at several children who followed him, he retold the now famous tale. Liza blushed as Red Eagle raised his arms and growled, pretending to be the bear, and the children applauded when he came to the end of the story.

  “You do not need to tell it over and over,” she told him, as one of the children grabbed her hand. She smiled down at Red Bird, daughter of Rabbit.

  “It is an honorable thing to take on such a powerful ani­mal,” he told her. “Courage is important to the Pikuni.”

  She blushed all over again and protested, “It wasn’t courage. I was terrified. And I keep telling you, the bear wasn’t so big.”

  “But courage is a terrifying thing, Liza Five Shots.”

  As he whispered her new name, Liza felt as if she had been embraced. No longer able to deny the spark that flashed between them, she held her secret desire close to her heart.

  With a nod he left her, but the children followed him. How was it, she wondered, that a man reared in a world she did­n’t understand, should be the one to touch her soul?

  Mornings grew colder and several rainstorms passed through leaving the ground wet, leaves damp, and air brisk. One night, a fierce wind swept through the village, forcing Liza and her father inside. All night it howled, a haunting whine that echoed in the vast wild emptiness. Red Eagle’s story of the great beast that caused the winter wind came to Liza’s mind. Winter was indeed coming.

  Red Eagle left with the hunters for three days. When he returned, he came directly to Liza’s tipi with fresh meat and a bundle of interesting objects. Her father had begun a collection of leaves, animal skins, stones, nuts, and cones. In the evenings, as the air cooled and the sky darkened, he took them out to share with Liza, reciting their Pikuni names. He wanted to learn everything he could about this new world, as quickly as possi­ble. Red Eagle seemed just as eager to teach him.

  On a morning in the middle of November, a heavy snow fell. It fell silently, the flakes settling across the high prairie like autumn leaves. By midday the entire landscape was white, and the children, dressed in tall leggings, tunics, or capes, ran out to catch snowflakes.

  Awed by the white-laced world, Liza stood outside her lodge with one hand extended. The flakes landed quietly, tin­gling as their icy wetness filled her palm. Never had St. Louis looked as perfect as this. Indeed, she had never thought winter was a season she enjoyed, but now she found herself entranced by it. There was a magic she could not describe.

  It wasn’t long until preparations began for the tribe’s final move. This time the people would travel to the Bear River, the river the whites called the Marias. There they would join other Pikuni bands and spend the winter; when spring came, they would move again, across the Sweet Grass Hills.

  On the morning of their departure, the procession moved out smoothly in spite of the falling snow. Liza spotted a curious coyote that stood atop a knoll while several gathering hawks, circling high above, seemed to watch as the snake-like line of bodies and animals passed. Crow Woman rode Crying Wind’s big spotted horse and carried his decorated shield. Come Running chose a bay mare and Liza was given a young sorrel. Liza’s father rode a stout buckskin.

  Red Eagle rode his black mare and Liza thought he looked magnificent in his winter leggings and long cape and hood. Several times he joined them, and they rode, three abreast, in a peaceful, satisfying silence.

  The next morning, Runnin
g Antelope unexpectedly rode alongside her, a bitter frown on his face. He started to speak, but then glanced over and saw Crying Wind. Without a word, he spun his painted horse around and galloped away.

  Red Eagle was soon at her side. They rode comfortably for a mile until he turned and spoke. “It is said that Running Antelope still intends to make you his wife.” His voice had an odd tone and she flashed him a hard look. His tense grip on the reins betrayed his placid expression.

  “You’re crazy.”

  He seemed to ignore her remark. “It is said that this time he will bring Many Words three horses and Crying Wind three horses if you will marry him.”

  She frowned again. “He’s crazy. I wouldn’t marry him. He’s—”

  “A heathen and a savage?”

  “No, cruel and cold. And he treats his wife terribly. I could never, uh, marry—” but she didn’t finish her statement. Red Eagle’s eyes were on her, his mouth drawn up in a curious smile.

  “Don’t ever suggest such a thing again,” she snapped, suddenly embarrassed. “Besides, whatever would we talk about, he and I?”

  Red Eagle’s smile vanished. “It is not for talk that he wants to make you his wife.”

  Without saying a word, Liza kicked her horse into a trot.

  ****

  Several larger Pikuni bands were already camped along the four or five miles of the upper Bear River when Crying Wind’s band arrived. Crying Wind, nodding to the familiar faces, led his own people past the broad ribbon of tipis to an area some distance away. Their spot hugged a narrow ridge and was protected by a thicket and scattered thin trees.

  Alighting from his horse, Crying Wind ordered the chil­dren to help construct the village. Brush fences were to be built to keep snow out of the lodges.

  Liza was relieved that they were not settling closer to the other bands. She had never seen so many Indians in one place and with the recent conflicts scourging the Montana Territory, she was afraid they may not welcome two whites.

  But it did not take long for the men of Crying Wind’s tribe to mingle with the other tribes. There would be much gambling by nightfall. For the men and children, winter was the time of storytelling and game playing while the women repaired and maintained a well-equipped lodge.

  Running Antelope, accompanied by Little Otter, slowed his horse when he spotted Liza standing outside her lodge. He was dressed in his finest robes, his hair tied into a knot on his head, feathers and brass bangles dangling. He wore a quilled vest, several necklaces, and long, intricately ­beaded earrings.

  “Hello,” he said, enunciating the English word carefully. His eyes fastened on the bear claw necklace hanging around her neck.

  Instinctively, she closed her hand over it and straight­ened her shoulders. Then she nodded and mumbled a greeting in Blackfeet before resuming her fence building. She didn’t want him to see how distasteful and frightening she found his attention.

  Over her shoulder, she spied Running Antelope and Little Otter kicking their horses into a lope. With a loud warning to some children gathered nearby, they sped through the camp and Liza breathed a sigh of relief.

  Later, when she paused to rest, her thoughts turned to Red Eagle. He was never far from her mind anymore, even if she didn’t see him all day. Today, she imagined what he might look like dressed in a tailored suit. She laughed, thinking that he wouldn’t like the restraining neckline or severe cut of a gentle­man’s cloth coat.

  She also thought about his life before. He had told her nothing of his parents or childhood; Liza did not know if he still grieved over their deaths or whether he did not want to share something so private. Her father had told her Red Eagle’s only brother died as a young child.

  She understood his reluctance to speak of the dead. She had still not told him about her mother. Perhaps she would ask him later.

  She laughed out loud. There was so much she wanted to know.

  Red Eagle watched as Running Antelope and Little Otter stopped to speak to Liza. Busy unpacking his own possessions, he looked up just as they approached her.

  It was clear Liza did not appreciate Running Antelope’s attention, but the fact that his cousin still pursued her worried him. Perhaps she would give in to his offers. He was a great war­rior and could someday become a leader in the tribe. He had much to offer a woman.

  Indeed, as boys, Running Antelope never let his younger, half-white cousin forget who was most capable.

  Whenever they went hunting, Running Antelope returned with the biggest and best animals. Once, Running Antelope witnessed Red Eagle’s futile attempt to kill a lame rab­bit with a whole quiver of arrows. Returning to camp first, he told the story over and over, imitating Red Eagle and the poor, injured rabbit. Everyone, including Crying Wind, laughed.

  Now, fully grown, Running Antelope was still a favorite among the people. Young women blushed as he walked by, hoping he might choose one of them as his next bride. Clearly, Black Quail was fragile and useless as a wife. He needed a strong and robust woman to bear his children.

  And he was not accustomed to losing.

  Red Eagle threw his buffalo robe across his pallet, tor­mented with thoughts of Liza in the arms of his proud and arrogant cousin. Running Antelope would not know how to treat her. He did not appreciate her spirit or temperament. She was different, special, and someday he hoped she’d be his.

  Only, was she ready to hear that from him? He had to be sure before he spoke what was in his heart.

  Feeling the heat of passion rise in him, Red Eagle cursed himself. How he longed to make Liza his. Even now, he could taste the sweetness of her flesh and feel the warmth of her breath across his cheek. He remembered how she had reached out, her hands on his face, and how she had moved against him, inviting him to touch her.

  Only his fear of losing her had kept him from taking her, from revealing his love too soon.

  ****

  Within the month, the settlement of tipis covered sever­al miles. The largest camps included Heavy Runner and Standing Wolf’s bands. Pikuni and whites alike respected both men. They were strong and wise leaders; Liza’s father assured her that life would be safe and orderly.

  Crying Wind spoke out often against Mountain Chief and demanded that his own young warriors resist joining forces with the renegade leader. Crying Wind had managed to main­tain the peace between the army and his people for many months, and he had given his word that there would be no attacks on settlers or miners in the area. In exchange, the army promised to protect the Pikuni territory.

  But Crying Wind could not speak for all the people camped along the river. He could only hope that reason would outweigh passion.

  Such stirrings, however, left Liza wondering if she and her father should leave before trouble broke out. She spoke of her concerns, but he put her off, saying, “I’ve been too close to death to fret now. But if this is your desire, I will ask Red Eagle to take you back to Fort Shaw. From there, I’m sure Lieutenant Cole will escort you to Fort Benton and book passage to St. Louis.”

  Liza refused. She did not want to leave her father. She did not want to leave Red Eagle.

  One evening her father returned with more news. He sat down, his face drawn. “It seems Mountain Chief and Owl Child have murdered Four Bears, a white man married to a Pikuni woman. The army is looking for them everywhere.”

  “Why would they murder him?” she cried.

  “It seems they were out to avenge the murder of Mountain Chief’s brother, who was shot down after rumors spread that the Pikuni attacked a wagon train. Later, it was learned that drunken Crows attacked the wagons.”

  “So did the army arrest the murderers?”

  Her father sighed. “No. They were white men. There was never any attempt to arrest them. In any event, Mountain Chief and Owl Child are dangerous. Even Crying Wind says few Pikuni leaders trust them, but no one will speak against them because they are Pikuni. Unfortunately, I suspect the army isn’t going to quit until they’re caught.”
<
br />   “What if the army doesn’t catch them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But, Father, will they kill us next? What about Red Eagle? He’s part white. What if Owl Child and his men decide to take revenge again?”

  “I don’t know, Elizabeth. Crying Wind says not to worry, that in most Pikuni tribes half-bloods and adopted whites are considered members.”

  “Most tribes?” snapped Liza. “What about all tribes?”

  “Elizabeth, Crying Wind is a good man. I only wish the army would give him, and others like him, credit for keeping the peace. The situation could be much worse.”

  But in Liza’s mind, it couldn’t get much worse. Crying Wind was a good man but he couldn’t keep Mountain Chief or the oth­ers out of trouble. He couldn’t protect her father or her or even Red Eagle if some renegades decided to take revenge on them.

  The prospect of death at the hands of such ruthless men left her weak. She had survived one ruthless attack but she had been able to run and hide. Where could she go now, during win­ter? How could any of them escape?

  Rolling onto her back, the dim light and hazy darkness of the approaching winter night filled her with a sense of dread.

  She suddenly remembered Red Eagle’s ominous, haunt­ing dream. He’d told Crying Wind about it, but what did it mean? Was it a message for all the Pikuni, or just him?

  ****

  Early the next morning, snow began to fall again. The camp was strangely quiet as few people moved about during the gusty storm. Even the dogs were brought inside or given their own shelters, and the horses were hobbled or tethered close to the village.

  The storm persisted for three days. Finally the clouds moved on, leaving the sky a brilliant blue. The snow, covering everything in sight, glistened in the sunshine. Liza emerged from her lodge, cupping her hands over her eyes so as not to be blinded by the bright light.

  Her father followed her into the daylight. “Ah, this is what my poor bones have needed,” he said. “Sunshine.”

  “Yes,” agreed Liza, drawing her cape around her shoul­ders. “I think I’ll take a walk. Will you join me?”