Lone Arrow's Pride

by Karen Kay

  He would have to be, she realized. To have counted coup on an enemy at such a youthful age would have required great physical strength.

  She fidgeted and looked down, pretending interest in her hands, yet all the while, continuing to observe him. Around his neck he wore a beaded choker, as well as a large pink shell-necklace, held there with a piece of buckskin. Ever present, too, was a series of shell beads, strung in half circles, each strand longer than previous.

  Shirt, leggings, breechcloth and moccasins completed Lone Arrow’s dress. Across the top of one of his arms was his bow, while in his hand he held a .52 caliber Sharps Carbine. And around his waist was his ever present bullet belt.

  He looked to be exactly what he was: a warrior, dangerous and threatening.

  He shifted position and her gaze was caught and held by the edge of his shirt where it met his leggings. Good Lord, his shirt did not completely cover his thigh. Rocking back onto her knees, Carolyn was treated to the seductive sight of the rounded image of bare buttock. Unwillingly, a rush of awareness raced across her nerves.

  Darn him! How dare he look so good.

  Worse, as though he were aware of the effect he was having upon her, he glanced at her. But he did not smile. Instead he approached her and, without pause, came down, to his haunches beside her. However, she scooted slightly away.

  “We need to replenish our food stores,” he said. “It is what we are telling Pretty Moon. To the north of us, is a good buffalo range. But it will take us many days out of our way to reach it.”

  Many days? Did she have that much time to waste?

  She asked, “Do we go there now?”

  “Baa-lee-táa, no,” said Lone Arrow. “Big Elk has killed a deer. It is not the meat of choice, but it will get us through these next few days. But this meat, though it is not buffalo, will need to be smoked and made into iaxshe.”

  “Iaxshe? What’s that?”

  “Pemmican, I think the whites call it. Pretty Moon will show you what to do.”

  “But—”

  “Your help is needed to do this quickly,” he went on to say. “My friend and I have found a war lodge we can use. If we smoke the meat inside it, it will not alert any enemies that there is someone in the vicinity.”

  “But—”

  “We cannot stay long at this place. To do so is to court disaster. War lodges are built on the trails of our enemies. Therefore, you must work quickly.”

  “But—”

  “Remember that I told you that a woman’s work is often hard and long? Your help is needed.”

  “But—” Carolyn stopped herself, thinking she might be interrupted again. When Lone Arrow remained silent, however, she said, “But I have no knife with which to work.”

  “Ho!” he said, as he untied a buckskin sheath from around his waist and offered it to her. Tentatively, she reached up to take it, but he held it back from her.

  He said, “This, too, was made by my búua-lí-ché.”

  Carolyn pulled back her hand, while she inspected the sheath gingerly, noting for the first time that the bead work on it matched the paintings on Lone Arrow’s robe.

  Realizing this, a multitude of emotions converged upon her—jealousy, fear, hostility. She was more than aware of these. However, there was also within her, if she were to be truthful, a bit of thankfulness. Particularly since she realized that she might at last have a weapon.

  Lone Arrow reached out for her hand, taking it into his own. And in truth, so caught up had she been in her thoughts, she was momentarily startled by the contact.

  It lasted but a moment, however, for Lone Arrow did not simply hold her hand. Taking her fingers, he placed them one by one on the sheath as he said to her, “Know that my búua-lí-ché is no longer my girlfriend. I tell you true that she is now married to someone else. But these things she gave me are mine—and I give them to you now for your use.”

  Spreading his fingers over her own, he said, “Do not fear these things. They are but objects of beauty. They do not, and have never represented what is in my heart. If it will help to heal the wound between us, know that when I return home, I will burn these things if it pleases you.”

  “You would?” She swallowed, hard.

  “Éeh,” he said. Then dropping the volume of his voice to a whisper, he said, “When we came together in marriage, you did not know our customs. I did not know yours. Perhaps we should start again. Maybe I should have done as you first suggested and merely sought out the use of your body.”

  With these words, Carolyn sat as though stunned to silence. But he was continuing, “No one from my tribe would have thought less of you for this thing. If you wish it, we could take back our vows of marriage, as though they never happened, and say that we have had only a romance—that is all. This thing that I suggest to you is allowed by my people. Maybe,” he said as he brought his face closer to her, “if we are lucky, we could still have that romance.”

  She stared at him for some moments, feeling as though she were being slowly mesmerized by his nearness. However, after a time, she said, “Lone Arrow, I—”

  “Do not give me your answer now. Think on it. As the wise men say, and as I have said to you, ‘ponder over these things before you act.’”

  Carolyn nodded, but otherwise remained silent.

  And Lone Arrow stared at her for several more moments, as though with a look alone, he might instill her with courage. But at last he treated her to a brief nod, and rose up onto his feet. Before he left, however, he said, “Pretty Moon will show you what to do.”

  And with that, he and Big Elk left forthwith, abandoning the two women to themselves.

  A fire had been built in the middle of the war lodge. Over it the women had constructed frames of willow branches, bent so that they curved directly over the fire. On this framework hung many slices of meat.

  At present, Carolyn dug her knife into the last few pieces of venison, cutting them into strips. Soon, she would place these, too, atop the wooden structure.

  Though she had been working for many hours without rest, Carolyn felt perfectly happy. It was not as if the work was difficult, and no one pressed her. In truth, both Pretty Moon and the men seemed glad for anything she was able to contribute. Plus, she had taken a position next to the fire, which meant she was able to keep warm. And this, because of their high altitude, was a blessing.

  A war lodge was an odd structure, Carolyn thought, as she bent over her task. Made from windfalls of timber, the framework of the structure was composed of perhaps four sturdy tree trunks locked together, though these were not tied at the top. Added to this, heavier pieces of timber—about twelve feet in length—were propped up against the four main trunks. It made for a very sturdy structure.

  The outside of the lodge was then covered with bark, long pieces of it fitted so closely together that there was not even a crack that would let in rain or snow.

  However the structure had a lighting problem, Carolyn was quick to discern. With the single exception of the very top of the lodge—the spot where the poles met—there was no light, except for the fire, of course.

  But Carolyn had to admit that even the dimness of the war lodge had caused little problem. Eventually she had discovered that one’s eyes adjusted.

  On the inside of the lodge, and strewn throughout it, were boughs of dry pine, a reminder that the lodge had once housed other occupants. Although in this particular lodge, someone had left a bearskin.

  Pretty Moon seemed disinterested in it, but Carolyn had taken to using it as a rug.

  The other strange thing about the lodge was the entryway, Carolyn observed. Constructed as it was, there was only one entrance, which was a triangular opening in the lodge itself. Extended out from this opening, for perhaps ten feet, were several smaller pieces of timber, placed in such a way as to form a crawl space, which was about four feet high. Built of smaller but heavier timber, it required a person to stoop or crawl into the lodge.

  While Carolyn under
stood that these lodges were constructed in this way as a point of safety, it was, nonetheless, a hindrance. Getting into it and out of it could be quite a nuisance.

  Carolyn was nudged from her thoughts when Pretty Moon caught her gaze and said, “Fire…need…more wood…soon.”

  Carolyn sent a grin to her friend. “Yes,” she said, “I can see that. I’ll get it. You stay here.”

  Pretty Moon smiled and nodded.

  Standing—for the lodge was tall enough that one could do so easily—Carolyn stepped to the entrance where she came down onto her haunches.

  “Is there anything else you need before I leave to get the wood?” Carolyn called over her shoulder.

  Pretty Moon wrinkled her brow for a moment, then said, “Pine branches…for bed.”

  Carolyn knew exactly what Pretty Moon wanted and why. Ever since their party had come into fir-tree country, they made their bed each night upon pine boughs, sometimes softened and made even more fragrant with sweet sage. It made for a comfortable bed.

  But these boughs which had been left inside this lodge were dry and old. She and Pretty Moon needed new ones. Fresh ones.

  “Will we be sleeping here tonight?” Carolyn asked.

  “Éeh,” Pretty Moon nodded. “We,” she pointed to herself and Carolyn, “will. Our men…stand guard…through night…we…make iaxshe.”

  This was news, and Carolyn asked, “Lone Arrow and Big Elk will be on watch the entire night?”

  Pretty Moon nodded. “We…in country…dangerous. On war trail…not safe to…sleep.”

  “Then why do we stay here?”

  “We need…ah, oo-ssha…food. Not safe to make iaxshe…in open.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Carolyn. “Then I will get as much wood as I can. Enough to see us through the night.”

  Pretty Moon nodded once more. “Not…baa-chiia…ah, pine. No good…fire…makes…sparks.”

  “But that’s about the only kind of wood that there is here.”

  Pretty Moon shook her head. “Find other.”

  Find other?

  “I’ll try,” Carolyn said, realizing that her task might be a little more difficult than she had at first anticipated. Then she crawled through the entrance, which was really no more than a very long passageway.

  As she moved past row after row of slanted logs, Carolyn discovered that she was glad to be taking her leave from the lodge, if only for a few moments. Particularly since, for the past several hours she and Pretty Moon had been doing nothing but preparing the venison.

  At last, she came to the end of the entrance, stood up, and, raising her hands over her head, stretched. Ah, that felt good. She sighed.

  Smiling and placing her hands on her hips, Carolyn gazed with awe toward the western sky, which was throwing multitudes of pinks and reds, oranges and golds over an otherwise green and brown landscape. It was a dazzling sight, especially after being confined to the dark lodge.

  Funny how the browns and beiges were so easily transformed into pinkish, reddish, even gold colors. Every tree trunk, every blade of dry grass, even the earth itself had converted in color. It was as though nature herself were an artist.

  Enough, she cautioned herself as she inhaled deeply. She had come here with a purpose.

  “Wood for the fire,” Carolyn mumbled to herself as she stared at the ground.

  Gee, but this was not going to be easy. There was nothing here but pine and fir branches. Where was she to get another type of wood? Where, she wondered, had the men found those willow branches?

  Perhaps, she thought, she needed to find the men first, then the wood. Where would Lone Arrow and Big Elk be?

  She considered reentering the lodge and asking Pretty Moon about it, assuming that the young woman would know. But Carolyn decided against it. It was simply too difficult crawling into and out of that thing.

  Maybe if she ventured a little farther afield, the men might find her. Carolyn cast her gaze upward and sniffed at the fragrant, pine-scented air. It was incredible here. Beautiful. Who would guess, she wondered, that there might be danger in the air?

  And so it was upon this last thought that Carolyn ventured forth, seeking out the men.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Ah don’t rightly know what it is.”

  Like a playful imp, the wind pulled at the two men’s broad-brimmed hats, forcing each gent to clamp a hand down onto his head. It was either that, or lose the dang things altogether. Meanwhile, the cold, bracing air nipped at every exposed place on their bodies, while the sun contrarily teased those same spots with flickerings of warmth.

  Here before them was a tribute to nature. Here was a place of mystery, a place of strange beauty—all in one seemingly simple spot.

  Alas, had either man but noticed.

  But they did not. Together, the men stood staring out at the centuries old stones, which had been fashioned into a circle. A buffalo head had been placed by some unknown person at the center of the circle, while spokes, each formed with stone, extended out and intersected the rim of the ring.

  Standing as they were, nearly ten thousand feet above sea level, one might have thought these two men would have been impressed. Especially since, had another person been the one looking, he would have been accorded a treasured view of the earth; one that a more timid, citified person might never see. In truth, panoramic views, mountain peaks and the immensity of the rolling prairie stood ready to greet these two men on every side of them, had they but looked.

  But neither man did.

  Shame.

  “Looks like some wheel spokes, don’t it, Dixon? Don’t suppose settlers have been up this way, do ya?”

  “Ya gual-derned idiot! On top of a mountain? Think next time afore ya speak.”

  Jordan clamped his lips together. He was getting a little tired of Dixon’s constant harping at him; telling him to do this or that—and how to do it, too. Why, if it weren’t for the debt he owed the brute…

  “Don’t rightly ’member comin’ this here way,” Dixon scratched his beard, interrupting Jordan’s thoughts. “Give that map here.”

  Jordan handed over the worthless thing, the same map he had scribbled together in the wee hours of a morning several weeks ago. He said, “And was ya lookin’ at where we was all them years ago, Dixon? Ya was as scared as me.”

  “Bah! Was nothin’ ta be scared of. Yer memory’s gone daft.” The big man laid the map out over one of the six large clusters of stones, not even noticing that each one of these assemblies pointed in a particular direction.

  “Was too scared…as a rabbit.” Jordan quirked an odd smile.

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.”

  The wind howled, appearing to rise up from nothing. With seeming intention, the gust slammed into Jordan’s face. And with it came the dawning of recognition.

  “Dixon?” Jordan’s eyes grew round, bulging; and the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. “Did ja feel that?”

  “Feel what?” Dixon was pouring over the map.

  “That wind?”

  “Yea, what ’bout it?”

  Jordan stepped back a pace. “Ah don’t like this place.”

  Dixon did not even look up. “What’s ta like?”

  Before Jordan could utter another word, the wind kicked up speed, bellowing around the bend in the mountain pass. Indeed, so intense was the blast that it appeared to be spinning.

  Jordan had heard tell ’bout this kind of wind. Devil winds the folks out here called ’em. Some folks even told stories about Indian spirits that had come back to life within these whirlwinds; heard tell that those spirits hung around places like this, only waiting to haunt and curse any white man. Some other kinder folks had been known to believe that the winds were nothin’ but simple ghosts.

  Interestingly enough, not one theory held the notion that the winds were simply that: wind, all mixed together with dirt and gusts.

  At present, as though it had been granted life, this one approached the t
wo men.

  “Dixon?…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look up. Ah have nary seen sich a—”

  “What?”

  The bigger man finally raised his head. None too soon.

  “God, Almighty,” he was heard saying.

  Fear finally struck. Both men crossed themselves. One wide-eyed glance met the other.

  Someone screamed, or was it two screams? Perhaps there was no one to keep count.

  Without another word uttered between them, the two men jumped up from their task, allowing their legs full stride as they shot back down the lonely mountain trail, the same one which had brought them here. In fact, so quick was their departure that one might have thought they had miraculously sprouted wings.

  Curious. The two men were behaving as though some imaginary monster were after them.

  Perhaps it was.

  Long after the men had gone, the winds continued to sweep over the landscape, as though they might erase all traces of the ill-timed visit. The draught blew at a piece of paper half stuck to the ground. And it was not long before the vast gale had dislodged even this worthless bit of human artifice, sending it scurrying after the men.

  At length, Carolyn found some deciduous trees in the river’s bend, and she found them long before she located the men. Odd that, although the war lodge had been constructed no more than several hundred yards from the stream, she had not known that she’d been so close to it. Perhaps that was because it had been Pretty Moon who had collected the fresh water earlier in the day. That, and the fact that the war lodge filtered out the sounds of the babbling water.

  Carolyn cut a glance upward, noticing that the wind, which was stirring the branches of the trees, was a cold wind. Involuntarily, she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  In the shadow of the trees, she recognized a cottonwood, and over there, a willow. But looking around her, she decided that there were more ash trees in evidence than any other species. They weren’t extremely tall trees, she noted, probably standing no more than fifteen to twenty feet high.