Red Hawk's Woman

by Karen Kay

  Stepping into their midst, Red Hawk removed his bag from around his shoulder, withdrew the jerky from it and handed the bag to Lesley. “Do you think you could fill this with water from the stream?”

  She nodded and set off to do as bidden.

  Offering the food around, Red Hawk waited. When at last they each one appeared to be more nourished and in perhaps a better frame of mind, Red Hawk queried, “What happened here?”

  “We were attacked,” spat out Carl. “Where were you?”

  It was a fair question, and Red Hawk answered at once. “Since we have started on this trail, I use the night to scout. Because we are not well armed, it is important I look for signs of enemies, and if I see something that might harm us, to set a path around it. Last night Miss Effie decided to accompany me so she might more easily understand my duties.”

  Both Henry Smith and Carl Bell nodded, neither adding a comment.

  John Owens was not to be so easily swayed. “What good would that do? What need does the manager of this expedition have of learning the duties of a scout? If she is the director, then she should have been here to go down with the ship.”

  “Father!” cried Lesley. “Please.”

  Red Hawk eyed John Owens severely. Gone was the elder’s congenial veneer. In its place was the hostility Red Hawk had glimpsed upon first acquaintance. At length, Red Hawk said, “Miss Effie had every right to accompany me last night. Since we must first reach the excavation site before any work can be done, it is her duty to ensure we get there safely. This group is not well manned, and any wandering war party could take advantage of us. It would be irresponsible to remain uninformed of what lies before us.”

  Again, Carl Bell and Henry Smith seemed to comprehend this without question. But once more, John Owens had a differing viewpoint. “Tell me, if what you say is true and you scout through the night, when do you sleep?”

  “Whenever I can—usually that is a few hours in the early evening.”

  “Humph!”

  Red Hawk didn’t respond. Instead, he paused, hoping the former subject might die. In due time, he asked, “Who attacked you?”

  “We don’t know,” responded Lesley. “It happened in the middle of the night. At first we thought it was no more than a thunderstorm. But the noise came closer and closer, and my father felt the first shot.”

  “Soka’pii. May I see the injury?” Red Hawk directed the question to Owens, who was still glowering.

  At first it appeared as if Owens would not cooperate, but then with a shrug, he said, “Don’t see why not.” He offered up his arm for inspection. An angry, red welt ran all along his forearm. “The shot grazed me.”

  Red Hawk nodded.

  “We panicked,” Henry interjected. “Carl and I kept up a defense, while the women and Mr. Owens and his man, Fieldman, escaped. We followed them, keeping up a round of shots, until we ran out of ammunition.”

  “You have no more bullets for your guns?”

  “I think I used all that I had left with me when I fired on you,” said Carl.

  “You did not bring all of the weapons and bullets with you?”

  “No.”

  Again, Red Hawk nodded. But he was puzzled. He had not seen any signs of ammunition scattered about the camp, and if they did not have it here, it should have been there. But these facts he kept to himself. “And then what happened?”

  “Something we couldn’t see kept chasing us,” said Henry. “And though we fired and fired on it, it was as though our shots made little impression—as though bullets couldn’t kill it.”

  Red Hawk frowned. “How did you get away?”

  “As soon as we reached the water,” Carl continued, “it retreated. We don’t know why. We could only thank God that it did. But then all we could think of was putting distance between ourselves and the camp. We ran and ran until we stopped here. And here we have remained…until you found us.”

  “Are you ready to return to your camp now?” Red Hawk said after a pause. “I believe that whatever the danger was, it is now gone.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Madeline.

  “I have been to the camp, and I did not see anything that would have attacked you or me. So yes, I believe the camp is safe now.”

  “Do you have any idea who it was that attacked us?” queried Lesley.

  Red Hawk shook his head.

  “Was it Indians?” asked John Owens.

  “Were it Indians,” said Red Hawk, “you would not be here, able to tell me about it.”

  “Then who?” It was Henry speaking.

  “I do not know. But come, it is daylight. I do think the danger has passed. Let us go back to the wagons. There we can strike a fire, and you can further nourish yourselves before we look through the camp for clues. There is much to repair and to do, as well, I fear.”

  Luckily, there was not a single rejoinder or objection. As they all seemed ready to return, Red Hawk led them back to camp.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evening was drawing near. Both Carl Bell and Henry Smith were huddled together at the outskirts of their camp, rifles held ready. Red Hawk stood directly behind them.

  Said Red Hawk, “You both hold your weapons well, and standing still, you are both good shots. But it is rare that one can remain in one spot in the midst of a battle. Therefore, you must practice becoming more proficient while moving, even while running. I have set up two posts in the middle of the field. You must practice hitting those posts while at a full run.”

  Carl shook his head. “But that’s impossible,” he said skeptically. “How can a man aim and get in a good shot when on the run?”

  Instead of explaining, Red Hawk let out a war cry, startling the other two. He jumped forward, around the two of them. Sprinting toward the targets, Red Hawk pulled his bow and arrows from around his back, took what appeared to be casual aim and hit both targets within seconds, one right after the other.

  When he returned to the two men, Henry asked, “How did you do that? And so quickly?”

  “With intention. That is how you fight a battle. You take aim, yes, but a man must never fail to intend to hit his target. It is this that makes the difference between a good shot, one who brings home meat to his family, and one who returns home empty-handed.”

  “But,” said Henry, “at least you were able to see the target. That night when we were attacked, we couldn’t.”

  “It does not matter.” Red Hawk shrugged. “Under such conditions, a man might use instinct, he might call upon his spirit helpers to give aid, but one thing he would never fail to do is to intend to hit the target at which he is aiming.”

  Henry nodded. “All right. I’ll try it. I’ll practice it. What can it hurt?”

  Carl was more reluctant to agree, but eventually he too nodded.

  So it came about that each evening the three of them set up practice. That a camaraderie of sorts sprang up between them was only to be expected.

  What wasn’t expected, however—at least by Henry and Carl—was that within only a matter of days, both of them were making those shots too.

  “Who do you think attacked us?”

  “I do not know.”

  Another cool, moonlit evening was spread out before them. As Effie and Red Hawk stood in the shadow of one of the wagons, the languid breeze of evening blew the scents of balsam, pine and prairie grass upon them. It also brought with it the delicious smell of roast duckling.

  In the center of their camp a fire was blazing, throwing out indiscriminate warmth and sparks on this refreshing Montana night. The two married couples, as well as Mr. Owens and Fieldman, were sitting around the fireside, looking as though they might sleep right where they sat.

  It was the first time Effie and Red Hawk had been alone since the night of their attack, almost five days ago. The camp had been cleaned, the wagon wheels re
paired, their equipment and papers restored and their defenses strengthened by finding the missing ammunition.

  “Isn’t it strange that whoever attacked us,” said Effie, “didn’t take anything, not even our weapons? Certainly, we had to search to locate many of the valuables, since our ammunition and a few other items had been hauled almost a mile from camp. But everything was left intact. What do you make of it, Mr. Hawk?”

  “I do not know what to think of it. ’Tis strange behavior indeed. Stranger still that I have found no clues of an enemy. There were no tracks for me to discover, not even the downturn of a blade of grass to show the direction the enemy came from or took in retreat.”

  She nodded. “Did you scout to our rear, then?”

  “Aa, ’tis so. I can make no sense of the clues left me. Except perhaps one. I hesitate to mention it, however, because I think it unlikely to serve any purpose.”

  “But there is a clue? What is it?”

  He pointed toward the north side of their camp. “A boulder was split in two over there. And in that direction…” he pointed to the east, “…Mother Earth was overturned as though a white man’s plow had been taken to her. It required great force to do these things, and yet again, there are no tracks.”

  “Hmmm. What do you suspect?”

  “Maybe there are good scouts who are helping the person who seeks these…” Gently, he touched her waist, where she kept the artifacts hidden.

  The graze was innocent, yet he was pleased to note that despite this, she scooted in closer to him. “Could it be that the sheriff is following us? That maybe he’s hired a few scouts?”

  “It could be,” said Red Hawk. “But if this is so, he has hired some very good guides. Do you think many were for hire in Virginia City?”

  She paused for a second, then, “I didn’t find any.”

  He nodded.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “We move on,” said Red Hawk. “Whoever it is, or whatever it is, will either give up and leave us alone or will try the same thing again. Next time we will be more prepared.”

  “Yes. I have been thrilled to see how expert both Henry and Carl have become on their watches—and in only a matter of days.”

  “Aa, it is true. These men will be more able to mount a defense, if there is another attack in the making. And if this thing is human, we will stand a better chance of besting it.”

  “What do you mean, if this thing is human?”

  He didn’t answer; he merely frowned.

  “Mr. Hawk?”

  “I hesitate to put my thoughts into words until I learn more.”

  “Learn more of what?”

  Red Hawk wasn’t ready to answer any further questions on the subject, and he just shook his head. “And now, it is time for you to retire.”

  “Humph!” she uttered. “I suppose you want me to sleep while you go on ahead and scout out the trail for tomorrow?”

  “Aa, such things must be done.”

  “May I go with you this time?”

  “Not tonight. I would finish my work as quickly as I might. But do not fret. There are many more evenings ahead of us.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hawk, there certainly are.”

  Perhaps it was the way in which he had expressed himself. Maybe not. But seeming to realize that his mind was set on the subject and there was nothing more to discuss about it, she simply said good night and started to leave.

  He grabbed hold of her arm, keeping her back. “You forgot something.”

  “Oh? Did I?”

  “Aa, ’tis so.” Bending toward her, he kissed her soundly on the lips and hugged her close to him. “Sleep well.” He gave her rump a little pat.

  “Sir?” She backed up from him. She accompanied the word with a smile, and, turning away from him, stepped to her tent. However, before she pulled the flap back and ducked into the interior of the flimsy structure, she looked over her shoulder. Shyly, she waved at him.

  Red Hawk didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he sighed.

  The land over which they rode was awe-inspiring, as they traveled through one natural-made cathedral after another. The countryside was big, massive, spacious, and it was brilliant with luxuriant greenery. From lakes as blue as the deep, azure color of the sky, to the valleys where patches of green were emblazoned with winding, meadow streams, they treaded over a land that seemed more fairy tale than real. Craggy, snow-topped mountains and pine-covered hills were ever in the distance, and each day brought a new splendor that seemed even more spectacular than the last.

  The meadows abounded with wildlife as well. Buffalo were everywhere, as were moose, dear, elk and antelope. Once, a few days back, as she and the other women had been gathering wild berries, Red Hawk had instructed them on the proper manner in which to greet a bear, should they come across one.

  “Look him in the eye,” he had said, “do not challenge him, and do not smile. Simply look at him, and do not avert your gaze. Since it is the height of summer and the bears are not starved from their winter sleep, they should not attack.”

  Because she preferred to walk instead of ride in the wagons, Effie still remembered the day when they had crossed a stream that was hot at its very bottom and cool on top. She had at once reckoned that the riverbed must be a place where some hot spring emptied. Briefly, she had wondered about the stream’s medicinal powers, but when their party had forged on ahead, she had forgotten to ask Red Hawk about it.

  There were birds everywhere, as well, and she was getting accustomed to being awakened by the magic of their songs and lulled to sleep at night by their calls. Eagles and hawks flocked the skies during the day, their majestic presence always inspiring wonder. Even Red Hawk paid them tribute, stopping whatever he was doing to gaze up at them. Often, he would sing to them.

  When she had queried him about such unusual behavior, wondering why he would sing when the creatures obviously could not hear him, he had told her, “We honor the eagle, for he will often alert you to an enemy. If they will not fly over a particular area, you can know that there lies an enemy. And do you know as a fact that they cannot hear me or know of my admiration?”

  “Well…no.”

  He hadn’t spoken another word on the subject, but had rather gone on about his duties.

  He had educated her about many other birds, as well. “The nepe-e, or as you call it, the white-throated sparrow, speaks Blackfeet. We all understand his song, and the black breast—or longspur—sings a melody that means, ‘Spread out your blanket and I will light upon it.’ But the bird that we think is wisest of all is the raven. We look to him to tell us the future. If he lights upon your trail and puts his head together with another raven, an enemy is close by. You should seek cover.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aa.”

  At present, they had come to a stream, home to several beavers.

  “Look there.” Red Hawk had reined in his pony and had dropped back to her, since she accompanied the last wagon. She was on foot and was holding on to their horse, as though to guide it. Carl Bell, with reins in hand, was driving the wagon, while John Owens sat next to him. They were awaiting their turn at crossing the river.

  Pointing to a particular beaver, Red Hawk said, “Watch ksis-atukki closely.”

  “Ksis-atukki?”

  “It means Cuts Trees with His Teeth, or, as you call it, beaver. But notice this one. He is unusual.”

  She looked where he indicated. The beaver in question was industriously attempting to fell a tree. But the tree wasn’t going anywhere.

  After quite a bit of work, the animal moved to another side of the tree and began chipping away. All to no result.

  In a moment, the creature stepped back away from the tree and scratched his head, just like a person might do. Once again, he tried to gnash away at the tree from another position. Still the tree
stood, firmly planted. Again, the beaver backed up and repeated the entire process.

  “Oh, my dear Lord,” said Effie. “He acts like a human being.”

  “He does. It is one of the reasons we Blackfeet consider the beaver to be a sacred being.”

  “Do you?”

  “Aa, ohkiimaan.”

  Gazing up at him, she asked, “What does that word mean?”

  “Ohkiimaan?”

  “Yes.”

  Leaning down, he whispered to her, “It means my wife.” Without awaiting her reaction, he winked at her, set his pony away from her and trotted to the lead wagon and horse, where he took hold of the animal and began leading it toward the other shoreline.

  Effie watched Red Hawk for quite some time. His was a proud figure as he disappeared out in front of her. She feared she was growing more and more attached to him.

  How could she not? The man was gentle and kind in word and deed, but he was also rough when he had to be, wise when others were demonstrating their stupidity and never did a word of complaint cross his lips.

  She shook her head. Was she out of her mind, not accepting his proposal?

  Red Hawk signaled it was their turn to cross the river, and while he turned around, reining his horse back across the water toward them, Effie guided their horse out into the deep stream.

  Crash!

  A tree fell behind her, and she wondered if the beaver had at last won his prize.

  But then, crash! Down came another tree. A shot blasted through the air, sounding much like a lightning strike. At that same moment, something whizzed past her. Had it been a bullet?

  Meanwhile Red Hawk was whipping his pony across the water toward them, his arms waving in the air. He was yelling at her, and she could barely hear him, but she thought he was saying, “Hold on to the horse, Effie, and get across this river now.”

  “Yah! Yah!” He fought with his pony to increase her speed, even though the animal was bounding through the creek’s current as quickly as she could.

  But Red Hawk was still too far away from her. The horse she was leading was frightened, and in reaction it reared. Though the water cushioned the animal’s strength, Effie had no choice but to lunge away from it.