by Karen Kay
Turning his head slightly, staring down at her, he slowly brought up his own hand to cover hers, his action silently sealing a pact between them.
He had once given a friend his word of honor to watch over her. It was clear he would not renege on that promise. She gulped. The very decency of such an action, the strength he radiated, left her wondering if she had ever known anyone with such qualities.
She didn’t think so.
His integrity, the fortitude of his character, touched her beyond all thinking. And she felt tears well up behind her eyes. He instilled her with courage, this man.
She brought her gaze up once more, her look sweeping around the camp circle, and again, though no eyes were watching her, an air of expectancy hung over the men.
Would it hurt her to eat this meat, a sort of peace offering?
All of a sudden it struck her. These men were trying to show her in their own way that though they might have erred, they were sorry.
Their actions touched her. Most men of her acquaintance, even knowing they had lapsed from good conduct, would defend themselves as though they were beyond reproach. But not these men.
Which took the greater strength of will? To defend oneself, even when one was fully aware of having done wrong? Or, so knowing, to try to make things right? Which was the more civilized action?
She knew which it was and she felt almost numb with the knowledge. These people were supposed to be the savage ones. Hadn’t she heard that and been told that more times than she cared to think?
It was not a correct impression, however, she became suddenly aware. It was not correct at all.
It might appear silly, perhaps, but eating this piece of meat would symbolize her acceptance of their efforts to appease her. Was it too much to ask?
She sighed. It was difficult to acknowledge the integrity of these people after all that had happened to her.
She inhaled deeply once again and looked at the meat in her hand, which appeared as appetizing as a piece of shoe leather. Still, she put the food in her mouth, her own pride taking a steep blow as she did so.
She chewed, slowly at first, but then, as her stomach seemed to come alive, she ate with more vigor.
“Hmmm,” she said after a while, having taken several bites. “This is good.” And tentatively, shyly, she gave the party at large a brief smile, before glancing once again toward the ground. It was the best she could do.
Almost at once, she could feel the anxiety of the crowd begin to dissipate. And slowly a murmur of voices could be heard within the group as those around her relaxed.
It had been a hard thing to do, to begin to eat a meal with these people. But now that she had done it, she felt better for it.
At least, if they had been sorry, she had been forgiving.
Perhaps these people were not the villains she’d been told. Yet if they were not, why had they treated her so poorly at first? Did they have a good reason? She would have to ask Night Thunder about it as soon as she was able.
“Aakahkayo’pa.” The older gentleman from the previous evening spoke to Night Thunder.
Night Thunder nodded.
“Aakitapaoo’pa ookoowa kiistowaawa,” the old man said.
It was more a feeling than anything that caused her to become alert. Though he exhibited nothing outwardly to indicate he was uncomfortable, she was certain she sensed that something had been said to upset Night Thunder.
So she asked, “What did he say?”
Night Thunder didn’t answer her. Instead he said to the elderly man, “Nitsawaahkayi.”
“Saa?”
“Saa.”
“Maak?”
It was Night Thunder’s turn to respond, yet he remained silent.
“What are you talking about?” Rebecca whispered.
It took a moment, but at length Night Thunder answered, “He asks me if I had intended taking you to my village.”
“And you said?”
“No.”
“And?”
“He asks me now why it is not my intention to take you to my home, to my people.”
Rebecca caught her breath in a long, drawn-out hiss.
Night Thunder continued, speaking to the old man, “Nit-aakita-poohpi-nnaan nitaakii miistsoyis.”
The other man shook his head. “Maak-saw-wa: hkayi sstaa-waatsiksi? Akaawayami’takiwa?”
“Maak?”
“Night Thunder, what is it the both of you are saying?”
“He asks if you will not go home with me because you have taken too much offense at what was done to you.”
“Well, he does have a point, does he not?”
“If that is so, my brothers here will not leave until they feel their obligation to you is at an end.”
Rebecca gasped. “They won’t? What can I do?”
“I do not know. I am thinking.”
All at once the huge man who had first captured her leaped to his feet. And despite the fact that he had washed the paint from his face, the warrior still frightened Rebecca. He appeared contorted with rage, and it seemed all he could do to hold himself back, his body trembling with unexpressed rancor.
The elder of the tribe finally recognized him to speak.
“Saayi-wa!” the dangerous man yelled, his tone harsh, his words clipped.
“Night Thunder, what did he say?”
Night Thunder said nothing, not to her, nor to his challenger, though her hero rose to his feet.
At length, Night Thunder answered her, “He thinks the reason you won’t go to my home is because I lied.”
“No!” Rebecca, too, sprung to her feet.
“Aaksikamotaahpihkaapitsiiywa!” The big man fairly spat the words.
“Saa!” This from Night Thunder.
“Iikamotaahpihkaapitsiiyiwa!”
“What does he say?”
“He says we are both cowardly, seeking our own safety in dangerous situations. He says we both lie.”
“Saa!” It was Rebecca speaking, having quickly learned this word meant “no.”
“Stay behind me,” Night Thunder chastised, “and do not ask me any more questions. I will protect you.”
“But I—”
“I have spoken.”
Night Thunder crossed his arms over his chest, his attention centering once again upon his opponent. He spoke, the sound of his words ruthless. “Nitohkiimaan-saw-waahkayi maatini’stotowa hpoaawa!”
A hush fell over the assembled warriors.
“What did you say?” This from Rebecca.
He turned toward her only slightly. “Did I not tell you to be quiet?”
“Please, I must know.”
Night Thunder grunted and frowned at her. “Stay behind me. Your talk is not helping me,” he warned, his voice scolding. “Do you not see that my cousin is angry?”
“Aye, Night Thunder, I do,” she said, unable to keep her peace. “But I must know what is being said.”
“Fine,” he said. “I will say this only once and then you are to remain silent. Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
“I told them that my wife did not desire to visit my home because she is uncertain that those of us here will show her the respect she deserves.”
Rebecca drew in her breath. “Is that wise? Will that make them angrier?”
“Did I not ask you to say nothing more?”
“I…” She paused, frowning. Was that how she felt?
The argument continued between her protector and the giant of an Indian. But Rebecca wasn’t listening anymore.
Hadn’t she just reached the conclusion that these Indians did not appear harmful? Hadn’t she realized that perhaps they were not as savage as she had once believed? Hadn’t she felt some sympathy with them?
Was it only the one man that frightened her?
She said, all at once interrupting their argument, “It’s not the way I’m feeling toward them all.” Night Thunder paid her no attention. She shook his shoulder and tried again, “I’m
not feeling this way toward all of these warriors. Only…,” she pointed toward the big Indian, “…him.”
“Sskoo. Aahkapiisa!” The big Indian glowered, continuing to talk. “Saayiwa! Ikkam-oosi aaksikamotaahpihkaapitsiiyiwa!”
Rebecca did not understand what was said, but the antagonism of the other Indian caused her to catch her breath.
“Nitaasowatsii-wa,” the big Indian said, and pointed at her.
“Poina-a’pssi-wa. Itstsii-ohkiimi-wa,” Night Thunder answered.
“What?” she leaned in upon Night Thunder’s arm. “What are you both saying?”
“Be quiet. I do not want to have to tell you again—”
“Night Thunder, I will not—”
“Hush. I must think…”
“No, I—”
“He is threatening to take you as his wife by force,” Night Thunder responded irritably. “He says it is obvious that I lie and it does not matter if you desire him or not.”
“No,” Rebecca said.
“I told him that you are my wife and that he is a nuisance.”
“Night Thunder, perhaps we should…” She couldn’t finish the thought. She’d been about to suggest that maybe they should simply accompany the Indians until the bad feelings were gone. If it were not for this one Indian, she might be able to endure a month or two with them. It seemed a possible solution—good for everyone but her. She would be in constant danger from the big Indian.
But hadn’t Night Thunder put himself in jeopardy when he’d rescued her? Wasn’t he still in danger? Was it too much to ask of her to return the favor?
What should she do? “Night Thunder,” she began, taking in a deep breath, “if we went with them, would that put their minds at ease?”
He grunted and shook his head before sending her a sidelong glance. “Perhaps,” he answered, “but it is not certain. Stay out of this. I will protect you.”
“Ikamotaahpihkaapitsiiyi! Sayi!” This from the evil one.
“Night Thunder, I…” She gulped. It would mean a sacrifice on her part, but this man had saved her life. Shouldn’t she be trying to do something as gallant for him? It seemed the right thing to do. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words…
“Ikamotaahpikhkaapitsiiyi! Sayi!”
She gasped. The evil Indian had stepped forward.
Night Thunder bent down at the knees. “Get behind me,” he ordered her again. But this time, he brought his arm around her waist, effectively placing her where he desired.
The bigger Indian jumped forward, Night Thunder did the same.
And Rebecca sprang into action. Running the short distance to Night Thunder and pulling him back toward her, she pleaded, “Don’t do this. If it will end the fight, then I think we should go with them.”
“Saa, no,” he groaned, not taking his gaze from the other Indian. “I said that I will take you back to the fort. And I will. Do I look like a woman that I would be afraid of a fight? I would honor my word.”
“Sayi!” The big Indian hurled forward another step.
Night Thunder met it.
Rebecca gasped, and once again closing the short distance to Night Thunder, came up to his side. She said, “I don’t think that now is the time to be heroic—”
“Get behind me, stay there, and be quiet.”
“Iitsskaat!” The other Indian suddenly produced a knife.
No! Another thought struck her with sudden clarity. Night Thunder could die. Here. Now. Could she have the guilt of his death on her conscience for the rest of her life? Could she risk having the bigger Indian make good his threat to take her as his “wife” by force?
“Night Thunder,” she began again, “please don’t be doing this. Perhaps it would be better if we went ahead and accompanied them. Truly. You can still keep your promise and take me back to the fort. But we could do that later.” There was more she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare.
Briefly, Night Thunder looked away from his opponent and stared down at her. “Do you know what it is that you would be agreeing to if you do this?”
“I…I think so.”
“Omaopaat!” The big Indian threatened.
But Night Thunder ignored him, turning his frustration upon her. “Do you?” Night Thunder asked her. “Do you realize that my brothers from the Blood tribe will wish to accompany us, to show us their goodwill?”
“Aye, well…”
“Do you know that there will be no more camp lodges erected for us when we travel?”
“There won’t be?”
“Omaopaat!” The other Indian jumped forward yet another pace.
But still Night Thunder neglected him. “Saa, no,” snapped Night Thunder. “And do you know what that will mean?”
She gulped. “Aye,” she said, “I think so.”
“Consider it well, then, for we would be obliged to share a sleeping robe when we rest…during the day or night.”
She sucked in her breath, the sound resembling a hiss. She actually hadn’t considered that. She groaned. But truth be told, it didn’t matter. She could envision no alternative. Not with the other Indian so antagonistic toward both of them.
“Ksiststsoohsit!” The evil one vaulted another step forward.
Night Thunder responded in kind.
She had to act quickly. His life, and perhaps hers, depended upon it. With all speed, she closed the gap between them and reached out to place her hand again upon Night Thunder’s shoulder, saying, “I have considered it.”
“Humph!” he glanced down at her, his gaze off his antagonizer and searing into hers. He didn’t speak for several moments. In truth, he didn’t move at all, or so it seemed. “Are you certain of this?” he asked her, his tone little more than a growl.
Words failed her. She tried to answer, but she couldn’t. And as he stood beside her, not moving, not speaking, time seemed to stand still, until at last she nodded.
“Saiksisaa!” Again the big Indian lunged forward.
“I will not wear sleeping clothes,” he stated to her, still disregarding the other Indian. “The others would laugh at me if I did this.”
She heaved in her breath, stoutheartedly nodding as she said, “I understand. And though I object, I see no other way to avoid a fight.”
“Oki!” The other Indian signaled Night Thunder forward.
Night Thunder, turned his anger upon Rebecca. “I will not have you act as a man for me, that you make me avoid a fight. Nor will I cower away from my duty as though I were an old woman.”
“And what will happen to me if you lose that fight?”
“I will not lose.”
“I hope not, but…”
“Oki!” The big Indian still urged Night Thunder on.
She watched her defender shift his glance to stare over toward the big Indian. Then, after some moments, he switched his examination onto her.
“You may come to regret it.”
“I know.”
“I will not listen to you complain.”
“I will try not to.”
He scowled at her. She knew he stood contemplating her words, and time seemed to pass much too slowly for her peace of mind. But at last Night Thunder hesitated no more and he let out a great sigh. “We will do it,” he said, his hand coming down in the gestures of the sign language as he spoke. “I do not like it, but we will do it.”
She let out her breath and watched as Night Thunder bent down to pick up his buffalo robe, signing toward the big Indian and toward the other men and saying to the crowd at large, as he straightened, “Kiistonnoon-aakahkayi.”
The whole group began to mutter, all appearing satisfied, all except the evil one who continued to glare at Night Thunder, at her. But then, muttering something to himself, the big Indian turned and strode away.
Was that it, then? Had the whole thing been handled as easily as that? Rebecca suppressed the sudden urge to swoon and, grasping at Night Thunder’s arm, she asked, “What was it that you said to them?”
He sighed. “I told them that all of us will go home. It appears that your future, and mine, my reluctant captive, will be as one for a time.”
“Aye,” she said, and letting out her breath, she realized much to her chagrin, that she was not experiencing the fear she had expected at the thought of spending more time in this man’s company.
It couldn’t be excitement she was feeling, could it?
Chapter Five
Glancing at Night Thunder as he trod ahead of her gave Rebecca an odd feeling.
Tall, straight, with wide shoulders and slim hips, Night Thunder had to be one of the handsomest men of her acquaintance. With his black hair falling down his back, emphasizing the slenderness of his muscular body, she couldn’t be blamed if her gaze kept centering in upon him, could she? She had once estimated his age to be about twenty-seven years. Now she wondered. Though physically he might appear to be young, he exuded the emotions and wisdom of one much older and more experienced.
He wore a breechcloth and leggings that fit his legs so tightly, she could almost see the expanse of each muscle. Long fringe that looked to be part buckskin and part scalplocks, hung down the sides of his leggings, falling straight to the ground. And above his moccasins his leggings split, making a sort of rectangular panel over each ankle. His moccasins were black, making her wonder if this was perhaps how the Blackfeet had obtained their name. His gait was certain, sure, even when he was negotiating an expanse of difficult terrain.
He wore no shirt, like most of his companions. She supposed that was due to the hot summer weather. His lack of a shirt gave her more than an ample view of his back, the muscles defined for her inspection. He had several different small bags attached to the tanned belt that held up his breechcloth, as well as a beaded sheaf that encased his knife.
He wore an armband, decorated with beadwork and a certain type of fur she had trouble identifying. And across his back slashed his quiver full of arrows, his bow over one arm.
There were two feathers in his hair, tied with buckskin to a lock in back and hanging straight down. The feathers did not look like eagle feathers, although she couldn’t be certain. They looked more to be the feathers one would see from an owl.