The three trappers were huddled in the bull boat, talking. A man with a bushy red beard faced around and put a hand to his mouth. “Minneconjous, you say? They usually kill whites. What the devil is going on?”
“I do not know,” Winona shouted, “but I would not try to flee if I were you. This river is too narrow, too slow. They would easily catch you on horseback and wipe you out.”
“What do they want?”
“For you to parley with them,” Winona explained.
“What about?”
“They haven’t told me yet.”
Again the three trappers consulted. “We don’t like this one bit,” the man with the red beard informed her, “but I don’t see as where we have any choice.” He paused. “Are you their captive?”
“I am.”
“Hang on. We’re coming in.”
Runs Against was a nervous wreck. Shifting back and forth from one leg to the other like an indecisive grasshopper, he inquired in irritation, “Why are you saying so much? Our request was simple. You should only say the words I tell you to say.”
“Do I keep silent when they ask questions?” Winona retorted. “If I do, they will suspect something is wrong.”
“What questions?” Runs Against simmered.
“They wanted to know why you want to hold a pow-wow. I told them I did not know.”
“Good. Good.” Runs Against patted her arm as a man would pat a child or a pet that behaved correctly. “Keep doing as you are doing, but always make your answers short.”
The bull boat glided toward the point. Two of the men held rifles to their shoulders and warily regarded the Minneconjous while the man with the red beard paddled. When the boat was close enough, he set down the paddle, lifted a Hawken, and vaulted smoothly over the side into the knee-deep water. Splashing onto dry land, he transferred the Hawken to the crook of his elbow and turned to Winona. Astonishment overcame him on discovering her condition. “I’ll be damned!” he blurted.
“You’ll be dead if you don’t keep your wits about you,” Winona said while smiling to give the impression she was greeting him warmly. “I am supposed to tell you only what they want me to, but I’ll add as I see fit.”
The man nodded in admiration. “You’ve got gumption, lady.” He studied the Minneconjous while remarking, “I heard you say your name is Winona King. That right?”
“It is.”
“We heard about your husband at Jake and Sam’s shop in St. Louis, where I bought this rifle here.”
Winona knew he referred to the Hawken brothers.
“They spoke right highly of him,” the man went on. “Said he’s one of the best, along with Bridger, Carson, and McNair.” He calmly scanned the warriors lining the river. “I’m Reed, by the way. Adam Reed. Just say the word and we’ll try to free you from their clutches.”
“You dare not,” Winona cautioned. She’d taken a strong liking to this brash stranger who so gallantly offered to aid her. “You are badly outnumbered. They would cut us down before we reached your boat.”
“I don’t see any with rifles or bows,” Reed said.
“Not out in the open,” Winona said. “But knowing them as well as I do, I wouldn’t put it past them to have warriors in hiding nearby, watching us as we speak.”
“Didn’t think of that.”
Runs Against had abided all the chatter he was going to. Sidling next to Winona, he signed while grinning idiotically, “You talk too much again, woman. What is he saying? What have you told him?”
“He wanted to know if you could be trusted. I told him you could.” Winona cheerfully lied. “And again he asked to know the reason for the pow-wow.”
“Say that all will be made clear after we have eaten and smoked a pipe,” Runs Against directed. “Tell him to have his friends come on shore, too. Tell him they have no need of their rifles. They are our guests.”
Winona faced Adam Reed and relayed the chief’s words, throwing in, “It’s wiser if your friends stay in the boat. They can cover you if trouble breaks out. And whatever you do, don’t set your rifles aside.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t. As for Tim and Matt, they stay right where they are until I know what’s what.”
Runs Against was unable to hide his annoyance at the answer but he smiled nonetheless and signed, “Very well. Have him sit with us.”
The chief, Penis, Thunder Horn, and Long Forelock all took seats on one side of the blanket. Winona knelt near the tin pot. Adam Reed, Hawken across his legs, sat on the other side. An uncomfortable tension hung thickly around them
“Have him eat and drink his fill,” Runs Against commanded. “Impress on him that we are his friends. He has come in peace, he will be allowed to go in peace. Assure him of this until he understands it is true.”
Winona complied. “But I wouldn’t believe a word this old bastard says,” she concluded.
Reed chuckled, then took a big bite out of a piece of jerky. “Where’s your husband?” he asked, mouth full of the salted meat.
“We were separated during a storm,” Winona said. “The last I saw, he was searching for our son along the Yellowstone.”
“We’re heading west ourselves,” Reed said. “Since you won’t let us take you with us, tell me how to go about finding Nate and I’ll try and get word to him.”
Before Winona could offer advice, the chief nudged her.
“It is time to speak at length of the reason we invited these whites to visit with us,” Runs Against signed. “I want you to ask if they are trappers.”
Reed confirmed they were.
Runs Against rubbed his palms. “Ask them if they would like to have more beaver hides than they can carry in ten trips to the white man’s land.”
“What is he up to?” Reed wondered on hearing the query. “Of course we would. But it would take years to raise that many.”
Again, and for the next several minutes, Winona translated without embellishment. She was as surprised as Adam Reed when the ulterior motive of the Minneconjous became clear.
“For three men, yes,” Runs Against signed. “Not for a whole tribe. Our warriors could make you rich with beaver. The river to the west is thick with them because we seldom kill them and we have not let any other whites trap there.”
“Why would you do this for us?” Reed asked.
“Because we would like something in return,” Runs Against said. “We hear that whites like to trade, to barter. So do we. In exchange for the beaver, you would give us something.”
“What?”
“Before we get to that, I would like to know if a story I heard last spring is true.” Runs Against gazed fondly at the Hawken, scratched his chin, and seemed to change subjects without thinking. “You whites always have very fine guns.”
Reed, his confusion showing, boasted, “Our guns are the best there are. They’re superior to anything the Canadians or Mexicans have. And they’re a far sight better than the fusees the Hudson’s Bay people offer for plews.”
“This I have noticed,” Runs Against agreed. “With such weapons, it is no mystery how you whites have been able to penetrate so deep into the mountains after beaver, defying the Blackfeet and the Utes in their own territory.”
“They know better than to court lead poisoning,” Reed said smugly.
The chief played with the pemmican in his hand a moment. “I have lived a long life, white man. Over the years I have seen many changes. When I was a boy, no one had ever seen a white. When I reached manhood, we saw them only once in a while. Now, your kind shows up everywhere, with more and more coming all the time.”
“And there will be more yet.”
“So I have heard. And yet, if not for your guns, your people would have been driven back to their own land with their tails tucked between their legs long ago. Is this not true?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. We fight for what we want.”
“So do we,” Runs Against signed. “We fight the Blackfeet to the north and the Pawnees to
the south and the Cheyennes to the southwest, and we do it just to stay alive.”
Here Winona could not resist mentioning, “He is not being completely honest. The Minneconjou, like most other tribes, fight because they like to fight. They go on the warpath to count coup, not because they are forced to do it.”
Reed nodded and said, “I’ve been trapping four years now, so I know a little about Injun ways.” He looked at the bull boat. “I knew better than to try this shortcut west. I’d heard about the Minneconjou camping in the area every so often, but I figured I could sneak through their country without being caught.” Reed sighed. “Never buck fate. It’ll get you in hot water every time.”
The chief was bothered by their extended discussion. ‘‘What are you saying now?” he signed at Winona.
“The white man says he hopes there will come a day when all peoples might live in peace,” she said, putting her own wish in the trapper’s mouth.
“Then he is a fool,” Runs Against signed, and swiftly went on, “but do not tell him that! Instead, say that there can be no peace for the Minneconjou until we can protect ourselves properly.”
“Tell this old buzzard to quit beating around the bush,” Reed chafed. “What the hell does he want from us?”
“Guns,” Runs Against revealed. “We want to trade beaver pelts for rifles and pistols. All the hides you can carry for all the guns we can carry.”
Here Reed hesitated. “Do you figure he’ll fly off the handle if I tell him no to his face?”
“He might,” Winona answered. “Better to humor him.” She took the initiative, signing, “The white man says your offer interests him. But there are problems. For one thing, how would he bring so many guns all the way across the prairie? The load would be too heavy for canoes or bull boats.”
“He could pack the guns on horses,” Runs Against proposed.
“It would take too many for only three whites to handle. And they would be easy prey for other tribes.”
“Then he could bring the guns in small lots,” Runs Against was undaunted. “Just so we get them all.”
Winona elaborated for the trapper’s sake. “Play along with him,” she said. “Agree to everything. When you’re long gone you can laugh at his expense.”
“All right. Tell the conniving bastard I accept his offer. Tell him I’ll think of some way to bring in the guns.”
The Minneconjous were elated by the reply. They chatted animatedly until the chief signed again.
“There is one more thing. We would like him to sign a paper such as the whites use when they trade with one another so he will be bound by his word.”
“Where the devil did they ever hear about contracts?” Reed marveled, and laughed. “Sure, if that’s what they want. There’s no need to let them know that as far as the law is concerned, any deal we work out isn’t binding.” He glanced at Winona, his brow knitting. ‘‘And while you’re at it, tell him I have a condition of my own. You come with us or the deal is off.”
“I can’t tell him that,” Winona said.
“Why not?”
“He will not take it well.”
“Let me worry about how he takes it. If he wants guns badly enough, he’ll agree.”
“It is too risky.”
Runs Against slapped her arm. “What does he want? Why do you argue?”
“Tell him,” Adam Reed insisted.
Caught in the middle, Winona rashly gave in even though her intuition blared a siren wail not to do so. “The white man says he agrees to all your terms provided you agree to one of his.”
“Which is?” Runs Against asked.
“He wants to take me with him.”
All four Minneconjou leaders became as still as ice. A deathly pallor crept up Runs Against’s face. He glared at Reed, then at the two men in the bull boat. “And why would he ask such a thing?” he demanded.
“He likes me,” Winona fibbed for Reed’s benefit. “He thinks it would be of great benefit for him to have a woman who can speak the white tongue and use sign.”
“Does he indeed?” Runs Against gave the pot of pemmican an angry poke with his toe and said some words in Sioux that brought scowls to the faces of the other warriors.
“I don’t like this,” Winona said to the trapper. “You must get in your boat and leave, now, before it’s too late.”
“He won’t lay a finger on us,” Reed declared. “Not and ruin his chance of getting his hands on some guns.”
Runs Against looked at Winona. “I knew you would try to deceive us. Just as I knew Long Forelock does not speak the white tongue well enough to catch you.”
“I have not tried,” Winona said, but was rudely hushed by a barked.
“Do not lie to me, Shoshone!” Runs Against railed. “I read your faces. Either this one knows you, or he knows your white husband, or you have told him about yourself and he seeks to save you.” Leaping to his feet, he turned his spite on the trapper. “You were a fool, white man! Other whites will come along, and eventually we will find one to do our bidding. But it will not be you!”
“Run!” Winona cried to Adam.
But it was too late. The chief made a chopping motion, and even as Reed pushed upright several arrows thudded into his chest. The men in the bull boat raised their rifles, took aim, and died under a shower of shafts pouring from the undergrowth. One of them screamed briefly as he fell. As swiftly as that, it was over.
Winona began to rise, to step to Reed, when fingers gouged into her arm and she was yanked off the ground and shaken until her teeth rattled.
“I warned you!” Thunder Horn signed. “I told you what would happen if you humiliated me.” He shoved, sending her stumbling sideways.
It was useless to concoct an explanation. Winona saw their relentless fury and retreated, fearing for her baby. She bumped into a brave standing behind her, and before she could go around him, Thunder Horn was on her.
“You are not mine yet so I cannot give you the full punishment you deserve. But I can make you sorry for your treachery. Very, very sorry.”
And with that Thunder Horn proceeded to drag Winona off by the roots of her hair into the village.
Chapter Nineteen
Zachary King had never been so nervous in all his young life. Crouched behind high weeds, he observed women coming and going from the favorite spot for filling water-bags. He’d often seen older boys hiding nearby to catch a glimpse of their sweethearts but had never, ever figured he’d be doing the same himself. Sort of.
Two women were leaving. The segment of trail visible from Zach’s hiding place was empty save for them so he sank onto his elbows and knees and plucked at the grass. It had to be today, he told himself. Tomorrow he would be gone and he didn’t want to leave without saying something.
Zach had a plan. That very afternoon, Bird Rattler, Cream Bear, and others were leaving to hunt buffalo. In their absence, he proposed to steal a horse, or two, and flee south.
A new figure appeared on the trail and Zach’s heart skipped a beat. She had finally come, as she usually did at this time of the morning. He snuck closer to the stream, his moccasins soundless on the soft grass.
Her eyes were downcast, as they had been so often since that last day they talked. The bag was held loosely in her left hand by a strap, half dragging. She reached the pool, then knelt and dipped the bag in the water.
Tip-toeing up behind her, Zach gently ran a finger along her hair. She jumped as if set upon by a panther and cried out, whirling and dropping the water-skin.
“You!” she signed.
“I did not mean to spook you, Bluebird.”
“Well, you did.” Flustered, the girl picked up the bag and brushed off dirt. “I thought you were more mature than most boys your age, but you are like the small ones who delight in scaring anyone they can.”
“I came here to talk,” Zach persisted. “You have been avoiding me ever since the other day and I would like to know why.”
“Go away and do n
ot bother me. Unlike you, I have work to do.” Bluebird jammed the whole water bag under the surface. Zach moved around so he could see her crimson face. “Please. We might never have this chance again.”
“What are you talking about?” she signed indignantly.
Realizing he had slipped up, Zach quickly responded, “To be alone like this. Other women will show up soon.”
“I hope they do so you will leave.”
Feeling his heart tearing inch by inch with each caustic reply, Zach made bold to lightly touch her wrist. “Do you really mean that? Because if you do, I will leave now and never impose on your time again.” She stuck her nose into the air, and Zach, crestfallen, turned to go.
Bluebird instantly snatched his sleeve. “I have changed my mind. I want you to stay, for a while At least. Long enough to tell me why you said those terrible things you did.”
At a loss, Zach said, “I would never insult you, not in a hundred winters.”
“You spoke of us being husband and wife!” Bluebird reminded him, her tone implying he had violated every rule of conduct known to mortals.
“What was wrong with that?”
Uttering a sound that closely resembled the angry nicker of a horse, Bluebird stood. “Was it such a small matter to you? I suppose you go around talking of marriage to every girl you meet.”
“You are the first one I have ever thought of in that way,” Zach admitted, shame-faced. “And I have no idea what got into me. Maybe it had something to do with you being the prettiest girl I have ever met. And the kindest, too.”
By her posture, a stinging retort had been on the tip of Bluebird’s tongue. On hearing his excuse, she relaxed, her temper subsiding. “Straight tongue?” she signed.
“I would never lie to you.”
Bluebird could not meet his gaze. She glanced down, yelped, and frantically plunged both hands into the stream to rescue the water-bag, which was slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool. She missed.
In a twinkling Zach knelt next to her and bent low, sticking his face into the cool water. His outstretched fingers scraped the bag and he leaned farther. As his fingers closed on it, he lost his balance. He tried to get a purchase on the bank but his slick hand slipped. Lacking support, he started to pitch headfirst into the stream.
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