by Karen Kay
She struggled against him, but she did so in vain, earning herself a roughly spoken, “Oo-chia!” for her efforts.
The boy pressed the burning ember closer and closer to her until Carolyn panicked. She was certain he meant to burn her with it. After all, wasn’t that what Indians did?
No! This would not be her fate. She had not survived all this way to be subjected to torture, or worse. By goodness, she would fight.
Mustering up every ounce of strength that she had, Carolyn bit the fingers clamped over her mouth, gaining a brief moment of freedom.
And in that instant, she screamed.
“Ho!” A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat, or Lone Arrow uttered the expression mildly, as though he were in the habit of being bitten by strange females as a matter of course. But after his initial shock, he brought his palm back to cover his captive’s mouth.
He would have to be more careful with the girl, at least until he could tell her in a language that she understood to be quiet.
What was she doing here, anyway, disturbing his dreams?
He gave her a more thorough glance, his curiosity at once caught. What was a white youngster doing in these mountains?
At first he had thought that she might be a part of his vision, but he had soon disabused himself of that notion. The figure that he held in his arms was real, not the product of a helper—an animal or a person who would be a warrior’s protector all his life.
Plus, she was white.
“Oo-chia,” he tried to tell her in his native tongue to stop her struggling, but she did not understand; she kept fighting him, and Lone Arrow sent a frustrated glance toward her.
For two long weeks, A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat had prepared for his vision. He had cleansed himself in a sweat lodge; he had bathed himself in herb-scented smoke and had gone without food and water for four days. All this he had done so that he might communicate with his Maker—via his dreams.
During these four days of fasting, Lone Arrow had walked naked through these mountains, seeking a helper, asking the animals to speak to him, to assist him in having a vision. Several times he had seen bears, wolves, even buffalo, but none had spoken to him. None had been his special helper.
But this night was different; this night, he had at last realized the culmination of his hopes, for the spirit of the mountains had come to him. Taking the form of a whirlwind, it had been speaking to him of the future, had been imparting its own special wisdom and knowledge to A-luu-te Itt-áchkáat…only to have the girl trip over him.
In the confusion, the little tuft of wind had fled. And Lone Arrow was no closer to discovering the fate of a planned raid than he had been before beginning his vision quest. Would the wind come again?
Aa-laah, perhaps.
Frustration, which could rightfully be directed at this girl, filled Lone Arrow’s soul, and had he been a lesser being, he might have vented his anger on her. But such was not his way, nor the custom of his people.
First he needed to determine what the girl was doing here, so far from the white man’s posts.
“Dé sapée? Who are you?” he asked.
He gazed down at her, observing that her eye color held much in common with the hue of a beaver pelt; a brown color, but a lighter brown than that of his own people. He also noted that there was no look of comprehension reflected there in the depths of her eyes. In truth, all he could see, all he could sense about her, was fear; not only in her facial features, but also in the way her body trembled.
Would she know the language of sign? he wondered—if he ever dared to release her in order to use it?
He groaned.
“Híi-laa, young lady,” he began, “xapiiwaak, are you lost?”
But it was useless. Even if she were capable of understanding, the girl would not be still.
Should he let her go?
He examined her more closely. Her clothing was torn, her cheeks hollow, her hair dirty, and her bones visible beneath her skin. Not only was this girl lost, he determined, she was starving.
But her plight was not his affair. After all, what was she to him? She had interrupted him during a most important time in his life. And if she wanted to leave, as she was struggling to do, why should he convince her to stay?
Staring into her eyes one more time, he released his hold over her.
He would let her decide. If she were dull-witted enough to flee from him, a possible provider of food, far be it for him to change the course of her life. He had enough problems of his own…thanks to her.
Chapter Two
The Indian dropped his arms from around her, and Carolyn took a moment to stare back at the boy. She could determine nothing from his dark eyes, however. The only thing she knew about him with certainty was that he was Indian, and that, alone, made him a savage, deadly enemy.
Like a javelin, this last thought found its mark.
Carolyn’s stomach turned over, as though to strengthen her fear, and without further incident, she jumped to her feet and ran away from him; ran, with every ounce of her strength. Down the hill, past trees and bushes.
Thorns caught on the material of her skirt and tore it, along with her skin.
But she barely noticed.
Carolyn checked her pace when a pain in her side demanded it, but only to a fast walk. Still, she hurried onward, alternating her walk with a few running steps.
Down the mountain she fled, following a stream that rushed along her path. Crossing it, she hoped to throw the Indian off her trail, if he were following.
As she jumped up onto the shoreline of the creek, she threw a look over her shoulder, not thinking to slow her passage. She took a step forward, a few more, and without realizing what she was doing, she slammed into something solid and furry—and screamed.
A bear; a big, black and angry bear stared back at her.
Involuntarily, she let out another scream, took a few paces backward as quickly as she could, and turned to run. But it was useless. Even she knew it was so. Going back the way she had come meant climbing uphill. The animal would have the advantage.
The bear reared onto its hind legs and roared. Like one hypnotized, she watched as the animal, claws bared, approached.
In less time than it takes to consider her choices, Carolyn burst into action, falling onto hands and knees and scrambling back the way she had come, wondering all the while what the pain of being mauled to death would feel like. Flashes of untold horror, and the realization that she might be eaten alive, swam before her eyes. Once more she screamed.
Something grabbed her hand, pulled her up and tugged her forward along with it, skirting around the bear and forcing her downhill.
“Xaálusshée,” a voice shouted at her. The Indian boy! And it wasn’t the words so much as his intention which communicated to her: Run!
He dragged her with him only a little way until she came to her senses and began to match his stride. It wasn’t easy, and she stumbled more times than she cared to think about, but the boy did not slow down, nor did he desert her.
How long it took them to careen down that mountain, she might never realize. It seemed to take forever and yet, it was over quickly.
Looking behind her, Carolyn realized that they had left the bear some distance behind, the animal hindered by the rough footing. But the creature kept stumbling toward them, nevertheless.
The boy must have looked behind him, too, for he paused a moment. And then, he was pulling her after him again, only this time, the way was uphill and not very easily done.
The bear shortened their lead.
Coming upon a tree, the boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, pulled her forward, and, turning toward her, pushed her up that tree, motioning to her to climb high. Carolyn did not hesitate to do as he asked.
Then the boy scrambled up the tree after her, prodding her even higher.
The bear was upon them at once, huge paws shaking the tree’s trunk. Carolyn held on for dear life, for the branches swayed as though they, too, wished to
lighten their load.
“We’re going to fall!”
The boy sent her a heated glance. Did he understand her words? Perhaps he had, for he put an arm around her and drew her to him, as though to say, “No matter your fate, I will stay by you.”
The bear roared and prowled around the tree, swiping the trunk with great claws. Bark shattered under the assault, and Carolyn wondered if the bear, which she now recognized as a black bear, might be able to cut the tree down with those claws.
But although the bear kept slicing bits out of the tree, the animal did not climb it. Instead, it shook the tree trunk several more times. And when that still produced no immediate result, the huge animal grabbed hold of the tree’s lower branches, pulling them as close to the ground as it could. It caused the boy to shift, to let her go and to scramble up to the other side of the tree.
Clearly, they needed to get farther away.
Rocks and a high ledge stood as a backdrop against the tree, and the boy jumped up onto that ledge. The instant he did so, he paused and knelt, reaching down to grab her hand. In one gigantic pull, he raised her up onto the ledge as well.
But even that wasn’t enough. The bear started climbing the rocks after them. Did the animal never give up?
Carolyn cast a quick glance down, noting the animal’s progress, but when she gazed back, the boy was gone.
“Dih-chi-puah!” a low voice demanded. Carolyn gave her surroundings a quick scan, but she could not find him. Where had he gone?
“Dih-chi-puah!” again came the demand, and this time Carolyn gazed down to find a small hole in the ledge, big enough to fit one slender body—just. But she could see nothing in the hole, nothing but blackness.
She hesitated.
“Dih-chi-puah!” And this time Carolyn knew without asking what the boy wanted. She cast a look over her shoulder, marking that the bear was only a few hundred yards away. That convinced her, and closing her eyes, praying that this was no trick, Carolyn jumped down into that hole. Youthful, masculine arms encircled her at once.
For a moment she breathed in a sigh of relief, snuggling toward the contours of the boy’s chest. And, the good Lord help her, Carolyn could not remember a time when she had ever felt anything more wonderful than the texture of another person’s warm skin.
In the meantime, however, the bear pawed at the hole in the ledge, and a shower of rocks brought her back to the present. Without thinking, Carolyn threw herself against the boy, almost knocking him down. But if he minded, he did not show it. Grabbing her around the waist, the boy scooted back, away from the opening, pulling her down to her knees until they were both crouching. Then, touching her shoulder—for she could not see him, or anything else, for that matter—he gave her to understand that she was to crawl forward, following him.
Carolyn had never cared for tight places—and particularly enclosed spaces where she could not see. The cool moisture of the rocks closed in on her, adding to her anxiety. But despite the tightness in her stomach, she kept one hand touching the boy and followed him.
Ouch! A jagged edge from one of the rocks sliced the skin of her arm and she cried out, more in shock than in pain. The Indian lad hesitated, saying, “Di-chi-láa-che,” and it took no genius to know that he warned her that the way was dangerous.
Soon the small cavern widened. The boy paused, rising up into a sitting position. Carolyn followed his lead and sat back against her feet, her hand still touching her hero, for she could see nothing.
She heard a strange sound—like the striking of a match. It must have been a match, she decided—one obtained from white man’s trade most likely—for there was suddenly light. The boy had lit a torch.
And, gazing around her, Carolyn gasped.
Where were they?
The cavern had opened up into a more expansive section of a cold, moist cave. Cool rocks met her feet and above her more rocks formed a low ceiling, making the cavity appear much like a room, probably about forty by sixty feet. Moreover, the cave was crammed full of treasure the likes of which Carolyn had never seen.
She gasped. There were golden artifacts everywhere, as though they were merely being stored here. Statues, crosses, emblems of all sorts glistened and sparkled under the torchlight.
“What is this place?” she asked in a whisper, the sound of her voice reverberating off the cave’s walls, giving her words volume. But the boy did not answer.
She stood, her head coming up to a mere few feet from the ceiling. Glancing down, she bent to pick up one of the crosses, pressing her fingers against its smoothness and noting the quality of workmanship that had gone into making it, such a beautiful piece. Where had this come from?
“Who did this?” she asked, but again, though her words were clear, there was no answer, only the touch of the boy’s hand against her own.
He shook his head at her. “Baa-lee-táa,” he said, but she did not understand—well, at least she had not until he took the golden piece out of her hand. Putting it back onto the cave’s floor, he shook his head at her, a clear-cut sign for the negative. In addition, he frowned, as though to say this was bad.
Of course, she understood. She was to take nothing.
But why not? she wondered. “This treasure is not doing anything here,” she argued, “and I could use it when I return to my people. Couldn’t I have just a little of it?”
The Indian shook his head, saying, “Aan-nu-ttuua, xa-wíia.”
She touched his arm. “I—I don’t understand.”
The lad turned toward her, a look of confusion on his face before he said, “Cu-urse,” and pointed to the cross.
Curse?
“You mean this?” She picked up the cross once more, pointing to it.
A quick nod from him sealed her doubts. Or did it?
Did the lad even know what he was saying? Or was he only parroting words he had heard? It was obvious that he did not speak English—at least not very well.
Besides, she didn’t believe in curses…well, not much, anyway. Perhaps he meant that only this one piece of the treasure was jinxed—it was awfully big.
Replacing the object on the floor, Carolyn started to wander about the room, her hand reaching out to touch the golden pieces. Her graze was so gentle, one would have thought she stroked a child.
But the boy would not let her alone, and taking her hand, he led her through to the other side of the cavity; through probably the most glowing, dazzling display of wealth that Carolyn had ever seen.
At last, gaining the other side of the cave, the boy indicated another small passageway that led out, perhaps to another part of the mountain. Without pausing, he gave her to understand that they were to enter it. But Carolyn was not ready to leave this place…yet.
She was given little choice in the matter, however. The boy pulled her along with him, forcing her to bend down so that together, they could crawl out, using the tunnel. He extinguished the torch, but before he did so, Carolyn grabbed a small, golden cross that lay glittering at her feet.
True, Carolyn was no thief. But the past few weeks had been the most grueling experience of her life. And there was so much treasure here. Who would miss a simple, little cross?
Besides, Carolyn was not so young that she did not realize what this golden piece could mean to her. With it, she could buy the things needed to get herself back to civilization, perhaps to the gold fields of Virginia City. Maybe she could even go on toward Oregon, as her family had intended to do.
It was this thought which lay like a heavy inducement upon her. And for a frightened child, whose very life might depend on having such a trinket, the urge to take it was overpowering.
She slid the piece into the length of her pocket only moments before the boy led her out of the cavern. She followed him steadily, even up the constant incline.
As they emerged out of the cave and into the light, Carolyn heard a cry, far off in the distance, the sound much like the wail of a child. It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust t
o the light, but at last, when she was able, she saw that she and the boy stood at an impossible angle above the bear; she noticed, too, that the bear was looking away from them, its gaze going to the side of the other mountain, back from where it had come.
Carolyn stared off at the spot which took the bear’s attention, and there she espied two cubs. And despite herself, Carolyn could not help thinking how cute they appeared, both sitting on a rock, both pawing the air at nothing in particular.
Carolyn smiled, but lost her balance, shooting rocks down the side of the mountain. She would have fallen off the cliff, too, had the boy not grabbed at her and pulled her into his arms.
However, once she stood firmly on the ledge, Carolyn saw that the bear glanced up at them, a wild look directed toward them, and Carolyn was more than a little glad for the smooth edge of the mountain that lay between them and it. The bear stood on her hind legs, and, with her head pointed directly at the two of them, she roared, but she did not approach.
Instead, as though making a final decision, the black bear came down onto all fours, and turning around, easily traversed back to her cubs. Herding her young together, she ambled back up the mountain, her youngsters following.
Carolyn paused to catch her breath, then sighed. The Indian boy’s arms were still encircling her, and Carolyn let her head fall onto the youth’s chest. A sense of being safe and secure washed over her. It was an emotion she had not experienced…well, since the cholera epidemic had struck her family. And, truth be told, Carolyn was loathe to leave the comfort the boy offered.
But too soon, as though he had also become aware of their proximity, he drew his arms back and took a few steps away from her, his action clearly deliberate.
Regardless, Carolyn could not let him withdraw from her so easily. “Thank you,” she said, and, as a smile began to curve her lips, she gazed up as brightly as she could at the boy.
Then she decided: before she lost her nerve, before she thought of reasons not to, she would show him her appreciation. Reaching up, she kissed her hero on the cheek, the boy’s fragrant scent making her feel a little dizzy, causing her to want to move in closer to him.