by Karen Kay
But High Wolf had said he would come for her when the time was ready. In the meantime, she was to wait for him.
Wait for what?
Was she some lackey to cower to him? Some servant to bide her time, awaiting his leave?
Certainly not. She was a princess—mistress of her own destiny.
And so, High Wolf’s mandates or no, she would go visiting. For, truth be known, the Mandan village beckoned, her curiosity aroused by the beauty of the prairie surrounding it, by the children’s games and by the strangeness of what she could see of their village.
Fortunately for her, either Maria or Mr. Dominic had salvaged one of her dresses from the ship and, had left it and a few other things stored here at the fort.
And so it was that Princess Sierra emerged from the fort a few hours later, dressed in a lightweight forest green redingote, which fell down and almost completely covered a highly embroidered white dress. White knit gloves, black boots, cashmere shawl, a white straw bonnet, and hair dressed in spiral curls at the side of her face completed the image.
Perhaps it had been her utter lack of apparel, and her disguise as a wolf, that had made dressing all the more pleasant. Or perhaps it had something to do with an urge to impress High Wolf.
Whatever the reason, opening up her green and white parasol, she stepped onto the open prairie. And she vowed that she would find High Wolf this day and make arrangements to continue her arguments on her behalf, forthwith.
Hand up, palm outward to show that he held no weapon, High Wolf walked into the Mandan village. Almost immediately, dogs, children, women and the most pleasant odor of smoke and cooked food wafted toward him. And while the crowd of people surrounded him, the smells tantalized him.
Inhaling pleasantly, he had scarcely taken more than a few steps before a man emerged from the crowd, a man High Wolf recognized as Running Coyote, Mandan scout and friend. Briefly, the two men exchanged silent greetings, until at last, Running Coyote stepped toward him. And then, as was custom, Running Coyote passed his arm through High Wolf’s, and thus led High Wolf safely though the village, toward what was most likely his own dwelling.
Meanwhile, the crowd, seeing that High Wolf was well known by one of their own, dispersed.
Pulling High Wolf with him, Running Coyote strolled through the southeastern side of the village, into and then past the main, circular courtyard, which was surrounded by earth lodges, these being spaced so closely together that there was walking or riding room between them only. Onward Running Coyote trod, until they reached the northwestern side of the village.
With a flourish of hand motions, Running Coyote indicated his own earth dwelling, which was round and covered by earth that had been packed and worn down so that it practically shone. Upon entering, High Wolf was at once comforted by the delicious fragrance of cooking meat. And though his stomach growled and his mouth watered, he said not a word.
Truth be known, his mind was set, not upon the concerns of his appetite, but rather upon the Mandan lodge itself; looking at it with “new eyes,” he was attempting to view it as the princess might. Spacious, comfortable and orderly, the lodge was about sixty feet in diameter, making it quite comfortable for a family of perhaps twenty people. The floor of the Mandan interior was sunken about two feet into the earth, and although made of dirt, was so hardened by use, it presented a polished look. In the center of the dwelling was the ever-present fire, quietly smoldering in a round pit, around which reclined members of Running Coyote’s family. And, suspended from wooden poles over the fire hung a clay kettle that was at present boiling over with roasted buffalo meat, the source of the mouth-watering scents.
But High Wolf was in no hurry, and he took his time gazing around the lodge.
The interior was completely circular, and around the edge of the lodge were beds, which had much the appearance of the white man’s beds, although perhaps not constructed so high. With buffalo skin stretched over four small poles on the ground—each about two feet high—the bed consisted of the buffalo robe, which when dried would harden, thus becoming the bottom of the bed. Over this then was placed another buffalo robe, serving as a bottom sheet, with other robes drawn over this, or rolled up for a pillow. And covering these beds were casings, resembling curtains, these being ornamented with hieroglyphics or quills or paint.
On the right-hand side of the dwelling were tools and other necessities of the Indian life: lances, war shields, bows, arrows. On the left were pottery items belonging to the women. But what would be most unusual from Sierra’s point of view, High Wolf thought, was that, since the lodge was large enough to accommodate animals, two horses were at present housed within.
At length, without disturbing High Wolf’s scrutiny, Running Coyote led his friend to the edge of the fire-place, which was surrounded with stones. And gesturing toward a beautifully garnished buffalo robe, he invited High Wolf to sit.
High Wolf waited as Running Coyote chose another robe, then, did as bid and sat down. And by the language of gestures, Running Coyote requested High Wolf to “Eat.”
At once, one of the women in the lodge set a bowl of pemmican before High Wolf. In Indian country, this was the equivalent to “bread and butter.”
Soon another woman set another dish before High Wolf, this one consisting of those tempting, well-roasted buffalo ribs.
Drawing out his knife—for no utensils were ever given to guests—High Wolf commenced to eat, while his host sat ready to serve him, waiting on him as he, the host, prepared his pipe for an after-dinner smoke.
In due course, High Wolf finished and, with his appetite sated for the moment, sat up. No sooner had he done so than Running Coyote lit his pipe, inhaling its fragrance deeply, and then with another series of hand motions, passed the pipe to High Wolf.
At length, again by sign language, Running Coyote said, “It has been many seasons of the moon since I have feasted my eyes upon my friend from the Cheyennes. I am happy to see my Cheyenne friend.”
“And I, you,” said High Wolf, also in sign.
Both men lingered there in silence for a while, though after a bit, Running Coyote grinned, signing, “My sources tell me that my friend is still an unattached man, though he is beginning to climb higher in age. Has my friend come to our village to select a wife? If so, he has come at a good time.”
High Wolf smiled. “I am not as unattached as you might think,” he responded.
“Humph,” said Running Coyote. “Then, if not to select a wife, tell me what brings my friend to our village?”
“I have come,” High Wolf began, “to seek an elder from our clan. I am to embark upon a duty of some importance, and as is custom, I would confer with an elder from our clan before I set out upon it.”
Running Coyote nodded calmly, obviously understanding the reason now for the visit, for it was not an unusual request. Tradition dictated that a scout confer with an elder before beginning a task, no matter how great or small. That High Wolf was away from his own people would matter not in the least. A member from the Mandan tribe would be happy to meet with him.
After a moment, Running Coyote said, “This I will be able to arrange soon. I will talk with the others, and I am certain there will be one who you will be able to visit.”
High Wolf nodded. His purpose now stated, he relaxed a bit, at least enough to say in sign, “I see that there are many of the white items of trade here in your home.”
“Yes,” signed Running Coyote in return. “My woman likes the glass beads, which are easier to use than those blue ones that she can make herself.”
“Ah,” said High Wolf. “I see, too, that the fields are dry. Has anything been done to cause it to rain?”
“Not so far, though the women are begging the medicine men to try,” said Running Coyote.
“That is good,” said High Wolf. “That is good. It is to be hoped, however, that it will rain without the ceremony.”
“Yes,” said Running Coyote. “Although there are many young me
n who would like to try their hand at making rain.”
“Haa’he,” said High Wolf. “I am certain this is so.”
“Do you plan to be here very long?”
“Only as long as I need to consult with an elder.”
“Ah,” said Running Coyote. “Then you must stay with me while you are here, as my guest.”
“I would be most honored,” replied High Wolf in sign language.
And thereupon, Running Coyote emptied the pipe and the two men arose.
“Where is your other?”
Astonished at the request, High Wolf actually looked around him, as though another person might be standing there. “Other?” he asked with sign motions.
“There are two of you, are there not?”
“Yes,” said High Wolf to the old man, Shining Arrow. And though High Wolf might be surprised by the elder’s question he was not in the least astonished that this particular wise man would have knowledge of the princess. High Wolf continued, “Yes, there is another, but she is a woman, and because she is white, she will be staying at the white man’s fort while I go into enemy territory.”
The old man nodded. However, in sign he said, “You must bring her to me. For, though you may have little knowledge of it, she is involved in all you do. Bring her to me. Then I will talk to you about your scouting party.”
High Wolf acknowledged the old man, though he would have loved nothing more than to argue the point. However, High Wolf, as well as most other Plains Indian people, held the greatest respect for his elders, and this kept him quiet.
And so it was, at some length, that High Wolf signed, “I will bring her here this afternoon, if you would be able to receive us then.”
The old man said, “Shusu,” and making the sign for “good,” closed their meeting.
As High Wolf rose to leave, he was mystified by the old man’s request, but he knew he would eventually understand his reasoning. There was no need to rush. And so, with his palm down, arm at chest length, High Wolf made a sweeping motion with his arm from left to right, saying “good.” And with this, he took his leave.
Accompanied by James Kittridge—a drab-haired man of German descent—Sierra heard the drumbeats from the Mandan village long before she stepped foot within the village. And with each footfall, those drums became louder, differences of pitch giving the cacophony of noise the appearance of being strewn everywhere in the entire village.
“Careful, Your Highness,” said Kittridge as Sierra tripped over an unlevel piece of ground. “Stay to the path.” With a gap-toothed smile and breath reeking of whiskey, Kittridge made a motion toward her, as though he might grab hold of her to steady her. But when Sierra stepped away, out of arm’s-length range, his hand dropped back to his side.
Involuntarily, she shuddered. Though the man had been cordial in terms of hospitality, she had, perhaps, never been so close to a man so vile. His person reeked of unwashed body odor; his clothes—made mostly of buckskin—were soiled and stained. His teeth were yellow, tarnished and rotting. And his beard housed what Sierra feared might be unmentionable. Worse, there was evidence of certain debauchery left lying about the fort; broken whiskey bottles, clerks found half asleep and in various states of undress. Too, the Indian maidens under this man’s care—and there were several of them—did not look as though they fared well.
Still, until High Wolf returned for her, she was under this man’s influence. And so as politely as possible, she said, “I don’t remember hearing these drums last night. But I have noticed since arising this morning, that they are quite steady, and seem to continue endlessly.”
“Yep,” said Kittridge, his dry lips cracking into a smile. “Once we’re inside the village, you might be careful to observe the Injuns’ dancing and drumming, since the darned savages sing and dance most of the day through.”
“Oh?” said Sierra. “Really?”
“Yep, this way, ma’am,” he said, and once more he made to grab at her.
But Sierra easily thwarted the attempt, and with a sidestep, moved out of the way.
It caused Kittridge to rock on his feet, and with his hand still in motion, he made a grand gesture toward the wall that surrounded the village, as though that, and that alone, had been his intention all along. He said, “Looks like a white fort, don’t it, ma’am. But you wait. Jest wait. Here we go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kittridge. I am looking forward to seeing the village,” she said, as she walked over the lush, rich buffalo grass. “It is good of you to escort me into the village.”
“Think nothin’ of it, Your Highness,” he said. And then, strangely, he laughed.
Not that his mirth was directed at her, but rather he was found to be chuckling at the antics of the people they were passing. Many of these Indians had stopped and stood completely still as the two of them walked by. They stared at Sierra as if she might be some mystical being. Some—many of them women and youngsters—held their hands over their mouths, which Sierra assumed was their way of showing surprise.
And she asked, “Have these people never seen a white woman before?”
“No, ma’am.” He coughed, “I mean, Your Highness. Well, now let me correct that,” Kittridge said, and scratching his beard, he seemed oblivious to the dirt stirred up by the action. He continued, “They ain’t never seen a white woman like you. Your maid was here before you, ’n’ she was white, but she declined visiting the village. But even if she had taken an interest in it, she wasn’t dressed as you are.”
“I see,” said Sierra. “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to introduce me to various members of the society, so they might talk with me, and become more at ease with me.”
Kittridge acknowledged her by inclining his shaggy head. Then said, “I will introduce you.” It was a good-humored remark, or so it would seem. However, he giggled inanely, causing Sierra some concern, before he commenced to carry on, saying, “If you beg pardon, Your Highness, I think it might be some time afore these people are at their ease. Nope, don’t rightly believe they’ll forget a sight such as you.”
Sierra smiled, and though she hardly felt complimented, she said, “If it is your intention to flatter me, Mr. Kittridge, I thank you. If it is not your intention, and you are merely being factual, I thank you anyway. I am most happy to have the opportunity of seeing this village. I don’t imagine many white people have been here.”
“Now there I think you’re right, Your Highness. Here, this way,” he said, and they passed along the Mandans’ fortified walls.
Sierra stopped for a moment, taking stock of what she was seeing. And a more novel place, a more unusual people, she could not have imagined.
At a distance, because of its position on the river, the village had appeared to be a more cultivated place. But this was spread out before her, and was hardly what one might call a European civilization.
The village sat on a bluff that rose up from the river at a ninety-degree angle; its cliffs—about forty or fifty feet above the river—were of sheer rock, making them impenetrable. The site was also protected by the river and cliffs on three of its sides, the river changing course at a right angle. The remaining side of the village, which was unprotected by nature, had a large wall built around it, composed of wooden posts, some eighteen feet high and about a foot across. And inside the wall was a rather large ditch filled with water.
Strange. The moat was on the inside, not the outside of the village.
Also interesting was the fact that there were bastions stationed at each end of this wall.
She said aloud, “How curious.”
“Yep,” agreed Mr. Kittridge. “That it is, Your Highness. That it is. A very odd place, even at first glance. But as you get to know the Mandans, you will see that they are even more peculiar than you might at first have believed.”
As they advanced farther into the village, the hum of conversation, of children’s laughter, of the high-pitched giggling of young girls, caught up to them, reminding Sierra that th
is was, after all, a village of people, and their customs aside, not much unlike various villages in her own kingdom. There were some things, she decided, that were most likely held in common to all people.
As she and Kittridge stepped through the village, the barking of the dogs added to the sounds of the drums, the singing and the resonance of differently toned voices. And as she glanced around her, several dogs ran toward her and Kittridge, making Sierra suddenly glad to have Kittridge at her side.
But the dogs did no more than wag their tails enthusiastically, sniffing at Kittridge’s boots, then at hers. And all were strange-looking; being half wolf, half dog.
No one said a word to these animals, however. Not to claim them, or even to restrain them from leaping upon their guests.
Sierra tried to rescue her dress from the muddy paws of several of these animals. But after many unsuccessful attempts to keep them away, she gave up in disgust.
The wind suddenly changed direction, bringing with it the smells of roasting meat, of smoke and an indefinable scent of sweet herbs. Ah…
“Mr. Kittridge,” said Sierra. “What is that smell in the air? The one of herbs?”
“Herbs?” said Kittridge, “Oh, I reckon that’s probably the wild sage. The Injuns use it for everythin’; for prayin’, for deodorizin’ their homes, for bathin’. Though why the Injuns are so fond of bathin’ is hard fer a civilized fella to understand.”
Sierra gave the man a long look, before commenting, “Hmmm. It’s quite exotic, isn’t it? Exotic and…exciting.”
“Excitin’?” He scratched his head, while Sierra, raising a hand to her lips, hid a merry smile. But he was continuing to talk, and he said, “Well, Your Highness, come with me. Reckon I’ll introduce you to Bear-that-runs, a chief of the Mandans. His women will help you to feel at home.” Kittridge pulled on his beard, and practically talking to himself, said, “Don’t see how the women’ll take to ya.” And then with more intonation in his voice, he said, “Well, follow me, Your Highness.” And he pointed toward a lodge that faced out into an open, circular area, an area that looked much like a plaza.