by Karen Kay
Glancing back toward the ground, Carolyn remembered her purpose. And the sooner she accomplished that mission, the sooner she would be back in the lodge, sitting around the warmth of the fire.
Goodness, she thought, there weren’t many branches on the ground. Had Pretty Moon or perhaps the men already collected whatever timber was available in this spot?
Carolyn was tempted to keep winding her way down river, but not knowing the lay of the land in this high mountain place, or what danger might threaten her if she were to venture too far from the lodge, she decided that idea was unwise. She would make do with what she had.
Bending, she began to gather up what was left of the branches, one by one. This wood seemed awfully green, however. What was needed for the lodge was dry timber; it burnt better, was easier to manage.
By the time she had accumulated an armful of the right kind of timber, the sun had almost left the sky. Best to make her way back to the lodge. She turned to retrace her steps when she heard them…voices. Voices?
Every sense within Carolyn sharpened, and she paused, listening. Definitely low, masculine voices.
Taking a few deep breaths, Carolyn tried to still the rapid beating of her heart. Perhaps it was nothing, she tried to assure herself. It was probably Lone Arrow or Big Elk returning to the lodge.
After all, an enemy would not be speaking aloud, for fear of announcing their presence…or would they? This was not a Crow war lodge, after all.
She must take precaution; she must hide, and quickly. Bending, she set the sticks on the ground, and without a second thought, she clambered up one of the trees, a willow. It was probably the easiest of the trees to climb, plus it was also the closest one to hand.
“Óole!” came the deep call.
Immediately, Carolyn breathed in a sigh of relief. She recognized the voice of her husband. Glancing down, she noted that he was near enough that she could see him, there, through a cluster of trees. She made a quick movement, thinking to jump down from the tree, but without warning she stopped.
The two men, who had been speaking Crow to one another, abruptly froze, midstride. Carolyn also went completely still.
What was wrong?
Was there danger?
Slowly, silently, Carolyn let out her breath, daring nothing more, lest she draw the attention of an unseen foe.
At last, Lone Arrow made a series of sign motions, and he said, “I sense the presence of someone. There has been movement here—recently.”
Lone Arrow’s companion, a man Carolyn did not recognize, made the gesture for agreement, but signed, as well, “Perhaps it was an elk.”
With his right hand next to his heart, two fingers extended, Lone Arrow made the back and forth sign for maybe. But then he motioned, “The birds no longer sing, I see no squirrels on the ground and all is too quiet. There is someone here, I think.”
Perhaps it had been her own motions that Lone Arrow sensed. She had better show herself, lest they mistake her for an enemy. She lifted her foot that she might begin her climb to the ground.
Meanwhile, Lone Arrow’s companion signed, “You are too nervous. There is nothing here but maybe a scared rabbit. I see nothing. I feel nothing. Perhaps your senses are overworked because you have recently taken a white woman into your home, and have no good Absarokee women to comfort you.”
Stunned, Carolyn soundlessly replaced her foot. Had she read those gestures correctly? Easing herself into a position where she might see the two men better, she peeped down upon them.
Lone Arrow, she noted, did not say a word or make a single sign in response to this. Not even in his own defense. In fact, he grinned at his friend.
And after a slight pause, he gestured, “Running Coyote, you have yet to meet my wife. Once you see her, you will understand why she is the one I have married.”
Wife? Hadn’t Lone Arrow only today suggested that the two of them could start again, perhaps have no more than a romance? Hadn’t he given her the choice as to whether they were to remain married or not?
Lone Arrow’s companion, however, barely stopped to read his friend’s gestures, and Carolyn found she had to abandon her own thoughts and give these two men her undivided attention.
Running Coyote gestured in sign: “But what will your mothers and fathers say when they see she is white? And you, the speaker for and protector of these mountains? Have the white men had such influence over you that you now wish your skin to be white? Do you seek this by way of marriage?”
How rude.
But again, Lone Arrow merely smiled. And once more, he made no move to defend himself. Not even to deny the accusation.
The friend continued, however, signing, “The others in your clan will begin to say, ‘there goes Lone Arrow, a wanna-be white man. Next we will have to bargain with him instead of with the Indian agent.”
To this, he laughed. Then he signed, “It would be an improvement. I would not cheat my people, as the agent does.”
After a moment, when Running Coyote appeared to have no more to say on the matter, Lone Arrow signed, “Come, let us go to the war lodge and you will see my wife. And I think you are right. It must have been the motion of an elk which I sensed.”
Carolyn’s foot slipped on a branch. Barely a sound resulted.
Yet while Running Coyote took a few steps toward the war lodge, Lone Arrow did not budge. Not a single bit. Alas, he seemed to become vigilant once more.
Carolyn stopped dead.
After a moment, however, Lone Arrow relaxed, and taking a step forward, addressed his companion, saying in English, “Maybe you are right, my father. Maybe I should find a good Crow woman to keep me warm at night. A woman who knows how to please her man. After all, when a wife neglects her duties to her husband as mine has done…” The rest was lost to the wind.
And off he went, following on the footfalls of whomever was this man, Running Coyote.
Crouching in the tree, it was some moments before Carolyn was able at last to stir herself.
A good Crow woman? Duties to her husband? Pleasing her man?
Humph! Carolyn did not know what to think, what to do. On one hand, she would have liked nothing better than to jump down from this tree and haunt Lone Arrow’s steps until she could shake some sense into him. On the other hand…
Could he even have sense shaken into him? And from whose viewpoint would this sense arise?
Again she reminded herself that she was the one who objected to him taking more than one lover. He seemed to be perfectly happy about the arrangement—he even appeared unperturbed at the idea of her suddenly up and having an affair.
However, Carolyn remembered that it was also true that the Crow ideal for marriage was one of fidelity, love, and respect; one that lasted an entire lifetime. And weren’t these the very attributes that she admired? Didn’t this ideal more closely approach her own notions of what a good marriage should be?
And if this were so, could Lone Arrow not, then, be brought into understanding her point of view? And not simply to tolerate her perspective, but to understand it and to abide by it?
Perhaps.
It was strange, though, she thought. Strange that he should suddenly switch from sign language to English, particularly if he thought there might be an enemy in the vicinity.
Carolyn blinked, twice. English?…
Had he known she was in this tree? He hadn’t looked up to see; he hadn’t even turned his head so much as an inch. Still, why would he have switched to English? Was it possible that he had said those words for her benefit?
Impossible.
She shook her head. Enough. She was certainly going to accomplish nothing while perched in this tree like a bird. Perhaps, she thought, it would be to her advantage to climb down and dog this man’s steps until she either brought him around to her way of thinking, or…
She did not finish the thought.
Looking down, she realized she had another problem. It was too far to jump. She was going to have to shimmy
down this tree much like a snake. So, sliding down a foot, she found her first foothold and put her weight on it…
Oops!
She slipped on that branch. Worse, she heard a snap. And it was with a sinking feeling of the inevitable that she looked down, acknowledging that her instincts had been correct; it was her limb that had broken. The limb supporting her weight…it was cracked.
Oh, dear. More to the point, the branch was splitting, even as she watched.
Grimacing, she tried to swing up to another limb, but she could not find anything substantial to hold on to, at least not fast enough.
She heard a loud pop, and that was it. Down she came, tree limb and all.
Plop! Oomph! She landed on her fanny, right on the ground. Luckily the earth was sandy in this place, and she did not appear to be hurt. At least, not physically. But she had landed with all the dignity of a cat in heat.
She tried to move. “Oooo!” She rubbed her backside. Would she be able to sit these next few nights?
Anger stirred within her, but whether such ire was roused because of the tree limb or because of Lone Arrow’s ill-spoken words, she did not know. Still, she thought as she broke the branch into pieces, the least she would get out of it was firewood.
By the time Carolyn was able to stalk back to their camp, it was dark.
Drat! She had forgotten something—those pine boughs for Pretty Moon. Giving her surroundings a swift once over, she espied several pine shoots littering the ground.
Without looking closely at the offshoots, she gathered up what she could, along with her load of sticks and wood.
It was a large burden to carry, and coming up close to the war lodge, Carolyn sighed. She knew the Indians had made these entrances so that a man could not easily go into or out of them. But this was ridiculous.
How was she to get all this wood plus the boughs into the lodge? And at one time?
There was nothing for it but to place the wood in front of her and scoot it along the passageway, as she dragged the boughs behind her.
She tried it, but it was too difficult. In truth, she had gone no more than a single foot when she realized this would not work, not at all. And so, backing out of the entrance on hands and knees, she sank down upon the ground. There had to be another way.
That was it. It would take her longer to accomplish it, but there was no other means to get all of this into the lodge. She was simply going to have to divide the chore into halves. First, she would scoot the wood into the lodge.
This proved to be easy enough, and she did it quickly, considering that one did have to, after all, traverse a long passageway on one’s hands and knees. And if the men were in the lodge—which she assumed they were—she did not see them. But then, she hadn’t bothered to look, either.
Retreating, she crawled back through the entrance and collected up the boughs, pulling them into her arms and then dragging them behind her into the lodge.
At last, the chore was finished and she was able to crawl through the entrance. It was with some feeling of accomplishment that she stood up, but when she sent her gaze around the lodge, she was greeted by the sight of Pretty Moon alone.
Darn! All the while she had been crawling into and out of this space, she had been practicing what she might say to Lone Arrow. In truth, she had stirred herself up, and was ready for a good argument.
But all her preparation was for naught. Instead, she found herself speaking to Pretty Moon, and she was able to say, brightly enough, “Look, I’ve not only gathered some wood, I’ve brought us a couple of nice, green boughs to sleep on tonight.”
Pretty Moon glanced up to smile at Carolyn.
Carolyn returned the grin and, bending, collected the boughs into her arms. She took a step toward Pretty Moon. But something moved in those boughs. Something long and slimy.
Carolyn looked down.
Oh, my God, a snake!
Carolyn dropped the pine boughs, snake and all. Unfortunately, she also released the whole of it into the fire.
Not only that. That same slimy something that had moved in those shoots now curled at her feet.
Carolyn screamed. And though Pretty Moon jumped up, Carolyn realized the other woman would not be able to help her quickly enough. Practically in hysterics, she groped around her, looking for a weapon.
She found it in the bear rug. Without so much as another thought, Carolyn leaned forward to grab hold of the rug, and clutching it tightly in her hand, she beat it over the ground, at her feet, all around her, unaware that in doing so, she also fanned the fire.
Soon, as might have been expected, the fire began to emit not only mere puffs but big bellows of black, sooty smoke. Surely, clouds of the blackened smut filled the lodge with seeming speed.
Pretty Moon coughed, then shouted. “Leave…lodge.”
Carolyn nodded, but her feet felt paralyzed. She could not move. She cried back, “I can’t. There’s a rattlesnake at my feet.”
“Rattlesnake?” Pretty Moon’s words trailed away. After a moment she said, “This one…not…hear…rattle.”
“It’s crawling at my feet, I tell you.”
Wap, wap, wap, Carolyn beat at the ground with the bear rug.
Pretty Moon, at least, appeared to be slightly calmer than Carolyn, and the young Indian woman ordered, “Jump…back.”
“I can’t,” Carolyn shouted. “I’m afraid it’ll bite me.”
Wap, wap, wap.
As luck would have it, the rug caught fire, smoldering slowly, large blusters of smoke beginning to rise from it, too.
“Don’t…beat…fire!” said Pretty Moon.
“I’m not,” cried Carolyn. “I’m trying to get rid of the snake.”
“Snake not go…if…beat it. White woman stay. Pretty Moon…get…her. Stand…still.”
Still? Was Pretty Moon serious? How could a body stand still when there was a deadly snake at your feet? Still, squealing and squeaking like a chicken turned mouse, Carolyn did as asked, and she encouraged, “Do hurry!”
“White woman…” Pretty Moon tried to speak, but ended up coughing instead. Finally, she managed, “Need…leave lodge…hard to…breathe. This one…cannot see.”
“I know. You go ahead,” said Carolyn. “Save yourself.”
A note of humor might have crept into the other woman’s tone as she said, “Pretty Moon help…not leave…friend.” And with this declaration, Pretty Moon came down on her hands and knees and crawled toward Carolyn. But she did not reach her. “Smoke…heap…bad now. Cannot find white woman.”
“I’m over here,” called Carolyn. “Watch out, there’s a rattlesnake at my feet. I can feel it.”
“Snake only bite…when…coiled. Here…take hand. We crawl out…like one.”
Carolyn could see Pretty Moon’s hand extended toward her. And reaching out, she made a grab for it.
Never, thought Carolyn, had a grip felt so good. “Follow…Pretty Moon.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Crawl.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid to.”
“Must do it…before snake coil.”
Carolyn dropped to the ground, and with her hand still clasped within her friend’s, she followed Pretty Moon toward the entrance, dragging the bear rug with her. It was the only weapon she possessed, the only thing that stood between herself and the snake.
“The snake’s following me,” Carolyn said. “I’m sure of it. I can feel it.”
“It…afraid, too. Keep…going.”
“I will.”
Why had the Indians built the lodge so that one could not easily get into and out of it?
“Keep hold of…hand.”
“I am.”
“Pretty Moon almost there.”
“It’s following us.”
“Snake scared, too. Keep hold…of hand.”
Carolyn did as she was instructed.
Finally, Pretty Moon managed to crawl out of the lodge; she stood up. And without letting go of Carolyn’s han
d, the young Indian woman tugged and pulled.
But the way out was still several paces ahead of her, and it was too dark to see.
Letting out a cry, Carolyn said, “Pretty Moon, I think the snake is around my leg. What am I to do?”
“Crawl out.”
Carolyn did as ordered. And heavens be praised, she made it.
Never had the black of night looked so inviting. Never, thought Carolyn, had she been more happy to leave a place.
She came up onto her feet at once, finally gaining the chance to look down at her leg. Moonlight illuminated the shape of the snake as it coiled around her leg. And upon seeing it poised just so, Carolyn screamed, and screamed, and kept screaming.
Where fear rules, logic fails. So it would follow that without any rational thought whatsoever, Carolyn grabbed hold of the bear rug, and with it firmly in hand, she beat at herself with all her might.
Not once did she stop her howling, and she shrieked as though the devil himself were after her.
Then the worst thing that could have possibly happened did. It bit her.
The odd thing of it was that Pretty Moon stood beside her, laughing; laughing so hard the other woman could not even talk.
Lone Arrow was the first to spy the telltale evidence of smoke. Silently, he poked his companion in the ribs, and pointed.
Lone Arrow frowned. Now, while it was true that the women were supposed to be smoking the meat, it was not something that one should be able to smell, let alone see. He signed, “I had better investigate. You stay here. Watch. I go.”
His companion nodded.
As swiftly and as silently as he could, Lone Arrow approached the war lodge. Had an enemy attacked? Did they have The-girl-who-runs-with-bears?
He heard a scream. Another, followed by another series of them.
Baa-lee-táa! No! His heart turned over.
He ran.
But it was odd. He heard no war whoops. No cries. Not even the swish of an arrow. Nothing to suggest an enemy.
What was wrong?
At last the war lodge came into view. And there he saw a sight he thought he would never forget so long as he lived. There stood The-girl-who-runs-with-bears in the clearing of the lodge, stomping her leg up and down, beating at herself with a…bear? While Pretty Moon stood to the side…laughing?