by Karen Kay
The wind blew in his face, carrying his scent away from the approach of the buffalo, and he knew the herd would most likely not get wind of him.
He took himself behind the slight elevation, dismounted, and crawling up to the top of the hill, peered over the hill. Patiently he waited…and waited.
The ground shook with the thunder of a thousand hooves coming his way. Still he waited.
Finally the buffalo were almost upon him and he ran to his horse, mounted it again, and sent it into a mad dash toward the herd of buffalo, his pony as excited as he, needing little if any whipping or direction.
Thump, thump went the hooves of his pony, and with his intrusion into their midst, buffalo scattered everywhere. Still, guiding his mount with nothing more than his knees, he rode toward the white buffalo, that animal so quick, he could barely catch it. Onward, with more speed, his trained pony caught up to it, the horse bringing him close to the animal. With a quick bolt in toward the buffalo’s left shoulder, his mount gave Night Thunder a good shot at the animal.
Fluk went his arrow, the tip of the steel-like blade sinking deep into the heart of the buffalo. Blood gorged from the animal’s nostrils, but the buffalo, as a species, were gallant, and though fatally wounded, would not give up so easily. The white buffalo rolled; it wobbled, mooed, and struggled valiantly before it stopped, finally falling over onto its side.
Night Thunder jumped from his pony and glanced around him, just in time to see Singing Bull running toward him.
Singing Bull? Had that been Singing Bull who had come upon him from over his shoulder? Was this even Singing Bull’s arrow lying here on the ground next to his?
Night Thunder had little time to think. Still, he knew what needed to be done.
Picking up Singing Bull’s arrow, Night Thunder pulled his own from the buffalo’s ribs, positioning the other man’s arrow in its place.
The young Indian brave rushed up to him. After only a moment’s hesitation, Night Thunder said, “Your luck is good this day, my friend. It was your arrow that brought down the buffalo.”
Singing Bull looked doubtful. But Night Thunder gestured toward the animal as though to say, “Look for yourself.”
Sure enough, Singing Bull glanced at the animal and could not deny the evidence. There was his arrow in the ribs of the white cow.
“It was my shot that brought down the cow? But I thought I had seen yours make the mark.”
Night Thunder simply gestured toward the buffalo.
Suddenly the import of what had happened, the honor bestowed upon him for what he had done, took effect upon the young warrior, and Singing Bull began to tremble. He pulled out his knife to attempt to skin the hide, but the young man shook so badly, he could not accomplish the task. Night Thunder took the knife from him and began the slaughter.
“Be careful. Know that you do the work for the sacredness of Sun,” Singing Bull said.
Night Thunder made a slit and handed Singing Bull the tongue of the cow, not that anyone would eat the prize; to do so would be a sacrilege. The meat of the tongue, however, would be dried and given in ceremony, along with the white robe, to Sun.
Others began to gather around them, to pay tribute to their catch. But just before they came upon them, Night Thunder said to Singing Bull, “Go to the parents of your beloved. I think they will look with great favor upon your suit, now.”
Singing Bull drew in his breath, a startled look coming onto his countenance. “You are right, my friend. This is the chance we sought. No longer can her parents deny me the right to ask for her. And no one will think bad things of me, of her, of you.”
“Aa,” said Night Thunder. “Take Blue Raven Woman to you, then, and be true to her. She is a good woman.”
“I will always treat her well. I promise. She will remain in my heart all my life.”
Night Thunder touched the other man on the shoulder and nodded. “I know, my friend. I know.”
Perhaps because he sensed the regard of another upon him, Night Thunder turned his head, his attention diverted.
Aa. Rebecca watched him, over the wide stretch of the plains. The wind blew back her hair and she stared at him for a long time. Beside her lay a buffalo cow. Blue Raven Woman worked over it, taking off its hide and its meat.
And though he knew she was too far away, he wondered if Rebecca had seen what he had done.
He had freed Blue Raven Woman so that she and Singing Bull could marry, and in doing so had freed himself. It only remained now for him to tell Rebecca. His heart gladdened and he felt as though he might burst.
He only prayed that this gesture would be enough to make her want to stay with him, that she would be happy with him in their life here.
He would tell her at once.
But first, his eyes scanned the horizon, he had to take down a few more buffalo so that his and Rebecca’s lodge would be filled with meat this winter. He could not afford to waste this opportunity.
So decided, Night Thunder jumped back onto his buffalo pony, and, casting one last glance at Rebecca, rode out, back into the buffalo herd.
Rebecca gazed at Night Thunder. How she loved him. Her stomach twisted with her need to be with him, to love him. Oh, how she wanted to be able to stay here with him. How she wanted, needed, to spend the rest of her life here, with him.
But, her tortured soul reminded her, she couldn’t. He belonged to Blue Raven Woman, the sweet girl Rebecca had tried to hate, but could not. Besides, didn’t Rebecca have her own dreams, her own path to follow?
Confused, Rebecca turned away. She would help Blue Raven Woman.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Rebecca spun around to stare behind her. What was this? Someone had spoken to her in English? Was she hearing things?
But there stood a man behind her: a white man, holding a dust-covered hat in his hand.
He repeated, “Excuse me, ma’am. Is yer name Rebecca?”
Rebecca nodded. It was all she seemed capable of doing at the moment.
“Yer employer, Katrina Wellington, has sent me here ta find ya and bring ya home.”
Rebecca still couldn’t find her voice.
“Ma’am?”
At last Rebecca recovered enough to ask, “Your name, sir?”
“Robert, ma’am. Robert Clark. Yer employer has hired me an a couple of me friends ta find ya. If ya want ta get yer things together, we can take ya back ta the fort.”
Rebecca peered around her, toward the spot where Night Thunder had been, but he had already disappeared back into the herd of buffalo.
Leave her husband?
This wasn’t what she wanted. She glanced at Blue Raven Woman again. Or was it? Wasn’t this the opportunity she had been seeking? Hadn’t she only this morning realized that she needed to cease bringing hurt to Blue Raven Woman and Night Thunder? And here was her solution. These men could take her home.
Home? Was the fort her home? It didn’t feel like it. Yet what could she do? Hadn’t she known for some time now that her stay here with Night Thunder would end soon? Hadn’t she been thinking about finding a way to leave? It was only that she had expected to have a few more days—perhaps a month—with Night Thunder.
She drew a deep breath and asked, “How is Katrina?”
“She was well, ma’am, last time I seen her. She’s done married that Indian brave that took her ta her uncle, though.”
Rebecca smiled. “Has she?”
He nodded.
“How did you find me?”
“I knows that the Sun Dance camp is held here every year and I figured that if that brave found ya and saved ya, he’d bring you here. I’s right, wasn’t I?”
Rebecca gave him a weak smile. “You were right.”
“You’s ready to go?”
Did she want to go? No…yes… She brought her hands up to cover her mouth, as she had seen so many Blackfoot women do, when under the weight of great emotion.
The wind blew in her face once again, bringing with it the
gentle scent of sage grass and prairie, the scent she would always associate with Night Thunder. She didn’t want to go, not really. In her heart, she wanted to stay here with her love.
But surely not with Blue Raven Woman as his woman, too.
Her head began to ache with her thoughts. Didn’t he intend to do something about his engagement? Something that might bring him disfavor with his people?
She had to go, didn’t she? Besides, there was another reason why leaving had become so necessary. Rebecca clutched at her stomach.
Wasn’t there another life to take into account now, too? Hadn’t it only been a few mornings previous that she had become aware that her menses were two months overdue? Hadn’t she been going to tell Night Thunder of it, but failed?
That issue settled it for her, making up her mind, and she said to the white man, “You will have to give me a few days to prepare. Can you do this?”
The man looked suddenly nervous. He commented, “Will yer Indian man allow ya to leave?”
Swaying slightly, Rebecca nodded. “There will be no problem there. He has been intending to take me back as soon as the Sun Dance camp breaks.”
“Ya sure, ma’am?”
Rebecca nodded again. She said, “You go on back to camp. I have things to finish here, and then I will tell my husband—”
“Yer husband? Ma’am, he mighten not like the idea of me takin’ ya—”
“He will not object. Please, I need some time now to finish what I’ve begun here. You go on back to camp and wait for me there.”
The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’s will, but…”
“It will be fine, Mr. Clark, I promise you.”
The man turned then and stepping up to his horse, mounted quickly. Along with his pack horse and one other animal, he trotted in the direction of the camp.
What was she to do?
She had to leave, didn’t she? This wasn’t really her rightful home, was it?
Besides, hadn’t Night Thunder once told her that any child of their union would be considered his to keep? His to take from her? Better that he never know, wasn’t it?
Tears dammed up behind her eyes and it was all she could do to keep them from spilling over onto her cheeks.
Truth was, she didn’t want to leave, no matter all the reasons why she should. But did her feelings matter in this? Didn’t she have to consider her child, her beliefs, her convictions?
Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she walked slowly toward Blue Raven Woman. But she stopped suddenly. What would she say to her?
Nothing. She had nothing to say. Rebecca turned then and trudged ahead of her aimlessly, looking at the cows lying stretched out across the plains, catching sight now and again of the arrows entrenched in the cows, trying to find Night Thunder’s own special arrow, so that she could begin the skinning process on her own. Wasn’t that what Blue Raven Woman had told her to do?
She came upon a big buffalo—a cow, most likely. She stared at the arrow, carefully noting its design and colors. Slowly she pulled it out.
It was Night Thunder’s.
But where was he? Wasn’t he supposed to ride the buffalo before the skinning process began? Or had he only been teasing her? Most likely he had been merely jesting with her, but still…
What if it were true, and if she began to skin this cow, she would bring bad medicine to the people of his tribe?
She should have asked Blue Raven Woman about it, as Night Thunder had instructed her to do. Where was the young Indian maiden?
Rebecca glanced behind her.
Blue Raven Woman sat by a cow, a good distance away from Rebecca, still butchering the animal.
Rebecca shouted at her. “Is someone supposed to be riding this buffalo, now?”
Blue Raven Woman didn’t hear her.
Rebecca glanced down at the woolly cow. What did it matter? The cow was dead. There surely could be no danger in sitting on it now, could there? And then she could start to skin it without fear of doing something bad to the people.
Rebecca gathered her courage and forced herself to approach the cow, throwing her legs over its rangy back. She had just dug her hands deep into its woolly fur when suddenly the cow moved.
Wasn’t the buffalo dead?
The animal suddenly struggled to its feet, Rebecca perched atop it. She screamed, she couldn’t help herself, and dug her hands even more deeply into its wool. She took a strong hold.
The animal pawed at the ground. Wasn’t this a cow?
Dear God, no. This was a young bull.
No sooner had the bull come to its feet than it began to race away, wildly running to and fro, Rebecca upon its back.
She screamed again.
She heard shouts, heard the thunder of the buffalo’s hooves. Did anyone know she was in trouble?
She became dimly aware of low-pitched shouting, though she couldn’t make out the words, and she screamed once more.
Was that Night Thunder’s voice she heard shouting out to her, “Stay with the animal. Don’t let go”?
How could she let go? Didn’t her life depend upon her staying her seat?
A pony raced right up beside her, pitched in toward the buffalo’s left side. Someone pointed an arrow at her. She screeched again.
On and on the frenzied buffalo sped, Rebecca only half aware that several horsemen followed her.
Finally someone put a shot into the bull’s head. Nothing happened. Another shot to the head. Still nothing. Two more shots.
The buffalo hit the ground and with a wild scream, Rebecca flew through the air, her hands coining up and over her stomach for protection. She came down on the hard ground, hitting her head, screaming again, and then, nothing.
Rising above her body, she became aware of herself sprawled out on the prairie, Night Thunder having sprinted to her side. He spoke words of English to her. What was he saying? She tried to listen.
“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded with her, and she heard him, though not with her physical body’s ears. Had she died? “Come back to me!” he begged her. “Think of yourself, of me, of how lonely I will be without you. Rebecca, I love you.”
She remembered no more. She smacked back into the body, taking on its pain, so much so that she passed out from the stress of it.
But at least the body began to breathe again…though she was not aware of it. All she knew was how very tired she had become and how very much she hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tom-toms had been booming out a steady beat throughout the day. Children had been holding contests of courage and skill all morning long, while large crowds of men had gathered around one another, practicing the rhythmic steps of their “secret society dances.”
At least, that was what Blue Raven Woman had said they were doing.
Rebecca was sitting outside her lodge on this sunny afternoon, bending over the task of removing the hair from a skin Night Thunder had produced for her. Blue Raven Woman had exclaimed over the article, saying the deerskin would make the best clothing, once it had been “Indian worked.” Indians, Rebecca had quickly learned, did not really tan hides, as the western world thought of it; the Indian worked and worked the hide, with ashes, with buffalo brains, with scrapers. It was moistened, rolled up to dry, moistened again, stretched, scraped again, pulled through a rawhide loop, stretched again.
Hard work.
But rarely was it left to one to do it alone. Mothers, aunts, sisters, friends would all gather round to help, making the chore more social event than task. And no one worked longer than they felt was good or necessary.
Today, however, Rebecca appeared to be working alone, the others busy with preparations for the big Sun Dance, whatever kind of dance that was.
Every now and then Rebecca would look upward to catch whatever activity took place around her, and she did so now.
To her right she saw old men, with gatherings of children around them; to her left, women, sitting around a large robe, sewing, perhaps e
ven discussing some ancient legend, or maybe speculating upon the love life of their young people. The laughter of many people’s voices joined the rhythmic throb of the drums, played in accompaniment to the intoxicating melody of a song being sung.
Rebecca had realized that she was growing accustomed to such things as these and would feel lost to awaken each morning without hearing the chattering of the birds, the stirrings of the camp to life, the voice of some old woman reciting to Sun the names of her grandchildren, the camp crier as he went through the village encouraging others to awaken.
So, too, would she miss the smell of smoke and the beginnings of preparation for their morning meal. She would miss Night Thunder’s teasing her about the silly customs he kept making up.
Rebecca would have to admit, too—and she grimaced as she thought if it—that she would miss Blue Raven Woman and the girl’s constant cheer. Strange, that Rebecca should have become so attached to these things so quickly and to the other woman in so short a time.
Yet she had.
But why would she miss them? Was there some reason she would never experience them again? She couldn’t remember.
Blue Raven Woman approached her.
“Nit-ik-oht-yaahs-i’taki k-ikaa o’too-hs-yi, I’m glad you have arrived,” Rebecca said.
“Sok sok, good, good.”
Blue Raven Woman took a seat beside Rebecca. After a moment, the other woman said, “Kit-ik-asok-a’po’taki, you work very well,” and gestured toward the skin in Rebecca’s grasp.
“Iniiyi’taki, thank you.”
Blue Raven Woman stared around her and Rebecca began to suspect that something was bothering the other woman.
Rebecca didn’t at once ask the Indian girl any questions about what it might be. As she had found was customary, she worked quietly for a while, hoping the other woman would start the conversation.
But when more silence followed and still Blue Raven Woman did not appear to have courage to speak, Rebecca asked, “Is something troubling you?”
Immediately tears formed in Blue Raven Woman’s eyes, though she turned her head away that Rebecca not see it.