Stunned by the turn of events, Mad Horse fell to the ground, curling round and round like a snake. In unison, the three of them—Skunk Cap, Cut Finger, and Liza—moved in swiftly and bitterly.
****
They did not bury Mad Horse. Leaving him for the birds and coyote, Skunk Cap, Cut Finger, Bull Child, and Liza crossed the river to rejoin Fat Dog, Sharp Hand, and the children. Liza had not realized that Rides-a-Horse was still missing until after everyone gathered around a small fire. She started to say something, then held back. Sometimes silence was the only solace.
Though she had lost much blood, Cut Finger insisted they move on. She refused to camp near the river and Mad Horse’s body, which lay humped on the snow like an old bear. Skunk Cap, too, felt they must find a different place to rest, one with sufficient shelter. The wind had begun to gust and dark clouds were rolling across the gray horizon.
Liza was still reeling from the attack on Mad Horse. Though she knew she had had no choice, what she hadn’t expected was the animal satisfaction she experienced watching the man writhe. Willing herself to wipe out the terrible memory, she pressed a handful of cold, wet snow to her mouth. It melted quickly against her lips.
Bull Child edged in as close as she could.
“It’s all right,” Liza whispered, hugging her close.
Skunk Cap approached Cut Finger and frowned.
Liza knew he wanted to move. Cut Finger wrapped a thong around her cheek to keep the chunk of bloody flesh in place, climbed to her feet, and moved slowly out. It was clear she was weak. It would not be long before she was too weak to travel.
Reluctantly Liza and Bull Child followed.
Skunk Cap turned and spoke harshly. “Not so slow,” Liza wanted to scream at all of them.
After an hour or more, Skunk Cap spied a rocky bench. A stand of cottonwoods would provide much-needed shelter and a ring of bare trees whose limbs hung almost to the ground protected them. Skunk Cap, aided by two of the older children, hacked off several thick evergreen branches and three heavier limbs. In minutes, they built an overhang under which everyone could huddle.
Cut Finger, however, was hardly able to move in out of the wind. She had lost enough blood to saturate her buckskin dress and cloak, and the flesh of her cheek hung over the rawhide string like a dried chunk of meat. Liza and Fat Dog cleaned the wound, but it was deeper than any wound Liza had ever seen and needed surgical care. The gash to her shoulder was also deep and Liza grimaced when she realized that the bone lay exposed. How had Cut Finger managed to move at all, she wondered?
It was late when everyone finally settled in to sleep. Cut Finger lapsed into a stupor and did not respond to Liza or Fat Dog’s ministrations. The woman’s almond eyes remained fixed on Fat Dog’s fingers even as she gripped the elk horn handle of her knife.
Settling Cut Finger under their warmest robes, Fat Dog tried to soothe her. Liza, too, wanted desperately to thank her for her incredible bravery. Instead, she held her friend’s hand, gently stroking the calloused fingers.
“Oh, God,” Liza prayed later that night, “do not let her die. This kind and good woman. It’s not fair—”
But her prayer seemed to hang heavily in the bitter cold air. She glanced heavenward. Was God even listening?
Liza was not surprised when they found Cut Finger dead the next morning. The young woman had apparently slipped away after everyone had fallen asleep.
For a time, no one said a word.
But the pain that lodged in Liza’s heart was an ache that she knew would not subside for a long time.
Getting to her knees, she rocked to and fro. There were too many unanswered questions, too many painful memories to bear. Where was God to hear her? Where was her father to protect her? Where was Red Eagle?
Skunk Cap took charge of the burial. They would not leave her body unattended. Fat Dog wrapped her carefully in a buffalo robe and together they half-dragged, half-carried her to the highest place on the granite bench.
Easing her between two rocks, each person then placed next to her a token, some item she might take with her into the next life. With silent tears in her large round eyes, Bull Child placed a bouquet of weeds and grasses across Cut Finger’s body. Fat Dog lay a pouch of herbs and ashes near her feet. Skunk Cap folded the skin of the rabbit Cut Finger had caught for the children next to the pouch, and Sharp Hand slipped a pair of ragged moccasins under her robe. Finally, each of the youngest children lay a fir bough across her chest.
Then it was Liza’s turn.
Taking the bear-claw necklace she had rescued from the snow after Mad Horse’s attack, Liza pressed it into Cut Finger’s fisted palm. She had no need of it any longer. Her memories of Red Eagle were stronger and more powerful than any amulet, her love for him the greatest talisman.
“For protection as you depart this world, nita-ka,” whispered Liza, her face close to Cut Finger’s. “It is strong medicine.”
The group returned to their shelter, dazed and grief-stricken. Not only for Cut Finger, it seemed to Liza, but for all those they had been denied the right to mourn.
Then Fat Dog and Sharp Hand disappeared into the trees. Before long, a wailing rose up such as Liza had never heard before. It gripped her and her own pain rose in her throat. She stepped out into the softly falling snow and lifted her voice, even as warm tears trickled down her cheeks unheeded. She cried for Cut Finger and Crow Woman, Come Running and her unborn child, Black Quail and Rides-a-Horse, Yellow Grass and Walks-with-the-Moon, even for Giles and those she had hardly known in the villages of Crying Wind and Heavy Runner. Then she cried for her mother and father, for Red Eagle and Crying Wind. Finally, she cried for herself and her aloneness in a world that demanded more strength than she had.
Bull Child came to her then, and slipped her small cold fingers into her knotted fist. The child was like the breath of life.
Sighing inwardly, Liza closed her eyes. Was she the same woman who had come west only nine months before? Was she the same young woman who used to stamp her foot or pout when things went wrong? She choked back her tears. That silly girl had vanished. In her place stood a different person, a woman of complicated emotions whose life had become like one of Grandmother’s festooned quilts, bound together by time and place.
CHAPTER 31
Red Eagle cast his eyes toward the northern horizon. Snow had fallen during the night and into the morning, but it hadn’t been a hard snow. Instead, it reminded him of the sprinkle sugar his father had often brought home as a special surprise for his mother. A trail would still be visible if the people had come this way.
Letting his horse rest, he pulled out a chunk of pemmican and took a bite. He rolled it around on his tongue to soften it, then swallowed the salty juices slowly.
Stands Down and his daughter had been generous. No doubt, their generosity would save his life. They had given him not only pemmican, but dried fruit and tobacco from their own sparse share.
Thinking of Blue Feather only reminded him of Liza. It had been so long since he’d seen her, he feared she might have grown embittered by his long absence. Would she know that he had spent every day in search of her? And when he finally told her, would she forgive him for allowing Many Words to slip into death?
He fingered the small leather packet where he kept the dainty cross. It was all Many Words had left to give her. Would it be enough to ease her suffering?
Turning the horse to the north, Red Eagle pressed his heels against its flanks. He had to make better time than this if he was to overtake Liza or any of the people.
****
It was time she turned back.
Liza approached Fat Dog. “I must return to the village,” she said. “I must go back.”
“No,” cried Fat Dog, shaking her head sternly. “You will die in the cold and snow.”
“I will take my portion of meat and perhaps a small bit of meal. I will follow the river.”
“But the soldiers. They will hunt you down.”<
br />
“I do not fear the soldiers. I despise them,” Liza said, “but they will not hurt me. I am a missionary’s daughter, and a white woman.”
“You are Pikuni—”
“Yes, more than a little, in here,” she said, touching her heart, “but I am also one of them and they will not hurt me. Do not fear. I will reveal nothing of who travels north. But I must find my father and Red Eagle. We are moving further and further from them.”
Fat Dog shook her pretty head again, frowning. “We must speak with Skunk Cap and Sharp Hand. They will not like it,” she added.
But Skunk Cap listened without interruption. Frowning, he looked at the children seated around the small fire.
“It is the best choice,” Liza said. “I can return and convince the soldiers that those who were with me are dead. Mad Horse is still there, beside the river. I can tell them about Rides-a-Horse who drowned, even Yellow Grass and Walks-with-the-Moon. But I will not tell them about you or the children. And I will not tell them about Cut Finger,” she added softly.
Skunk Cap turned his dark eyes on Liza. She had never noticed how handsome and strong the young warrior was. Someday, he would make a fine leader.
“I think you speak wisely,” he said at last. “The horses will overtake us before a day or two, and we have no weapons.”
Fat Dog shook her head and mumbled something to herself, but Sharp Hand nodded her agreement. “It will give us time to move the children,” she said quickly. “If we cross the Medicine Line, the soldiers will not follow us.”
“You see, Fat Dog, I am right,” said Liza.
“I do not like it,” responded her friend, clenching her teeth, “and I know that Cut Finger would not like it.”
“But our situation has changed,” said Liza. “The children must cross the mountain pass safely, before more storms come, and we are all too weak to stand much more. I don’t believe the soldiers will hurt me.”
After several more protests, everyone finally agreed that Liza would return to the other side of the river and wait for the approaching soldiers. She would take meat and meal, one buffalo robe and Bull Child’s knife, but insisted that she could find the blankets and other essentials left behind on the far shore. The soldiers would rescue her and take her back to the fort, from where she would locate her father and Red Eagle. Surely, she could find them if she tried.
It was a good plan. And it would give Skunk Cap and the others more time to escape.
“I will be fine,” said Liza, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. “God will travel with me,” she added, hoping it would prove true.
But Bull Child refused to leave Liza. Shaking her head and stamping her feet, she ran away and hid, emerging only after Liza promised to take her.
“It is just as well,” said Liza. “I don’t think I could say good-bye to her. She is like the little sister I never had. I will take good care of her.”
It was time to leave. Liza and Bull Child, carrying only what they could, left the tiny encampment just after sunrise. Several times they stopped to look back, but soon it was impossible to see anything except the rugged range of mountains covered in sleek carpets of snow. Skunk Cap and the others had been swallowed up by the gray flannel wilderness.
Liza shivered, but kept her fear to herself. Wrapped in their robes, heads hooded, hands gloved, Liza and Bull Child followed the winding trail that would lead them back the way they had come.
What other choice did they have?
****
Private Schluter repacked the camp gear before adjusting the cinch on his saddle. It was a poor cinch, nearly worn through, and he cursed himself for not paying closer attention to such details before leaving the fort. Of course, they still had Potter and Edelstein’s mounts, but knowing Cole’s perverse sense of humor, Schluter wondered if the lieutenant would punish him for being so foolish.
He should have sensed Simon Cole’s cruelty. The man had never shown mercy to anyone or anything. Just this morning, after trapping a small snowbird, he plucked nearly every feather from its body before putting the creature out of its misery. Afterward, he smiled. Smiled!
“I killed it too soon,” Cole said later, tossing the bird into the fire. Spying Schluter’s shaded look of anger, the lieutenant threw his head back and laughed wickedly. “I should have skinned it alive.”
Even now, the memory made Schluter shiver.
As they took up the trail again, following the tracks of several moccasined feet, Cole talked incessantly. “The tracks are fresh,” he said. “And they can’t have much with them, which means they’ll be anxious to trade. Bet there’ll even be one or two squaws willing to take you under their robes,” he said to Schluter after they’d traveled another mile or so. “I’ll give you the fat ones. I’ll take the pretty ones. And the young ones,” he added caustically.
Schluter grunted. He’d never coveted Indian women. He’d rarely coveted women at all. He’d left a wife in Kentucky and, for the first time, he wondered why he’d left her. Though not much to look at, she’d never made a fuss when he came home drunk or late. She’d even kept quiet when he insisted on joining the army. Of course, he had promised he’d send for her, but never had, even though she’d been with child when he left. He wondered: had she bore him a boy or girl? Perhaps he would write to the poor woman.
****
Red Eagle tapped his heels against the sides of his horse. He had started out early and traveled a fair distance. The sun had warmed the earth and trees dripped snow. In the wake of such hopeful signs, he felt energized. If only he had a track to follow.
He had dreamed a new dream during the night. In it he’d seen Liza Five Shots. She was smiling, her chestnut-colored hair dressed in long plaits with bits of yarn and feathers woven in. She wore a new buckskin dress, much like the one Crow Woman had made for her. The soft, yellow fringe brushed her shins and her bare feet moved through meadows he recognized as those found along the Sweet Grass Hills. Flowers bloomed everywhere and the sound of birds filled the air. She had come and held her hand out. He had taken it. Taken it, and drawn her to him, hungry to feel her under his fingers, hungry to taste her flesh and move inside her.
He hoped this dream was the window to his future. Hadn’t his first dream foretold the destruction of the Pikuni?
He had to trust the vision. There was nothing else to believe in.
CHAPTER 32
Simon Cole bellowed across the snowy meadow, “Get that animal up! We should’ve been out of here an hour ago.”
Schluter yanked on the rope. “Git up, you fool. You’re ornerier’n a rat-tailed hoss, you know that?” He walked around to the rear of the mule. “Come on, don’t you know your time is runnin’ out? If you don’t git up, I’m tellin’ you, you won’t like what’ll be comin’ your way.”
“What’s slowing you up back there?” called Cole. “If she won’t get up, get a gun. Only a fool argues with a mule,” he added tersely.
Schluter kicked the mule’s rump. “Damn it, Oh Susannah,” he cursed. “Your life is comin’ to a sure end.” He unraveled the pack ropes that had become twisted when the animal dropped to the ground and rolled. Schluter yanked off the top part of the pack. “I’m tellin’ you,” he mumbled, “you better listen to ole Schluter. I ain’t holdin’ a grudge but the lieutenant will blow you to kingdom-come if you don’t git up soon.” He stopped and peered into the left eye of the gray mule. “Don’t ignore me,” he said.
“Schluter, we’ve got no time to be wasting on this lazy animal!” boomed Cole, stepping around the tail of the mule. Taking his pistol out of its holster, he slipped a bullet into the chamber.
“Lieutenant, give me a minute,” said Schluter. “It’s a shame to waste a good animal. Oh Susannah’s a reliable packer.”
“Not today. And if you take any more time, I’ll strap that gear to your back,” snapped Cole. “Now get her unloaded and repack the fat, white jackass, and be sure the guns are secure. I knew there’d be tro
uble with this one,” he added. “I can tell. It’s all in the eyes. Just like Edelstein and Potter.” He cast a sidelong glance at Schluter.
Schluter tried to appear nonchalant. “It’s true sometimes she acts like she’s been raised on sour milk.” He lifted a box off the packsaddle. He didn’t add that any animal might crowd the fence, the way the lieutenant treated it. The man was so stingy he’d skin a flea for its hide and tallow.
Cole glared at Schluter. “You’re slower than the second coming,” he growled.
“Almos’ ready, boss,” piped Schluter, running back to the mule. The poor animal hadn’t budged since he’d packed it that morning; refusing to move, she had dropped to the snow in one giant heap. Schluter knew only too well that she was tired. The animals had been plowing through snow ’til they were as limp as worn-out fiddle strings.
But he couldn’t tell the lieutenant that.
“Okay, okay,” said Cole, after Schluter unloaded the last, large burlap sack. The big man walked quickly around to the front of the animal. He said something Schluter couldn’t hear, then turned his hard blue eyes on the exhausted beast. Taking careful aim, he pulled the hammer back and fired.
Schluter jumped as the single shot echoed across the landscape.
He couldn’t look. But he heard the mule thrash about in the snow, moaning and huffing. Cole fired again and there was terrible silence.
“Now get the ropes and bridle,” Cole ordered, slipping his gun back in its holster. “Don’t be slow. I got plenty of ammunition,” he added sadistically.
Schluter said nothing, but moved through the next few minutes dumbly. He had always felt a fondness for animals. In fact, he preferred animals to people. They didn’t mess with his brain.
When the two men finally pulled out, Schluter allowed himself a final glance. “Sorry ole gal,” he said.
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