by Karen Kay
“Yellow Moccasin will send his son, Blue Thunder, to find these men and bring them here.”
Again, Sierra nodded and smiled.
“While we wait, Yellow Moccasin has instructed one of his wives to bring forward a gift that he hopes you might present to his friend Governor Clark.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Wait, here she comes.”
Looking up, Sierra espied the young woman—a woman much younger than her husband—returning with something in her hands. Why, it was a pistol, a firelock pistol, and a beauty, too.
In due course, Yellow Moccasin handed the pistol to Sierra, via High Wolf, who stared at it, turning it over and over in his hand, as though testing its balance. Made of silver, with beautiful engraving, it was a slender thing, its barrel long and shiny.
“It is primed,” he said, smiling at Sierra, “and the flintlock looks in good repair. A very good weapon. Look at how long the barrel is…for accuracy. Beautiful.”
Presently, High Wolf relinquished the thing to Sierra, saying, “Yellow Moccasin tells me that this weapon was given to him by Red Hair many years ago. It was not his to keep, as Red Hair said he would return for it. But he has not done so in all these years. Yellow Moccasin has had it in his possession all this time. But he wishes to return it to Red Hair now, who is its rightful owner. He gives it to you, if you would take charge of it, that you might give it back into Red Hair’s care once more.”
Sierra stared at the weapon, admiring the beauty of it, for it was as pretty as the finest jewelry. “Yes, yes, of course I will,” she said, her eyes still trained on its engravings. “This is, indeed, a great honor.”
The old man nodded.
“And please, High Wolf, tell Yellow Moccasin that I am pleased by his trust. However, I fear that harm might come to so pretty a gift, were I to take it with me now, as we are traveling north, not south. Tell him, however, that I will come here on our return trip, and at that time, I would be happy to pick up this charming firelock and carry it back to Governor Clark.”
With a quick nod, High Wolf turned back to the old gentleman, and once again Sierra was treated to a display of their communication skills.
After a moment, the old man bobbed his head up and down and reached out toward her, making hand motions at the same time. And Sierra needed no interpreter to tell her that this arrangement was fine with him.
She smiled, whereupon after a few moments, another one of Yellow Moccasin’s female relatives set a bowl of pemmican before both her and High Wolf. And with another smile, the two of them commenced to eat.
“Tell me again why we did not ask at least one of those Crow warriors to accompany us.”
“Because,” High Wolf said, stopping behind a bush to glance back at her, “I do not trust them. They are Crow. I am Cheyenne, and our tribes are not on friendly terms. Besides, I could see that at least one of them was considering how well my scalp would decorate his tepee.”
“Hmmm. You think he would threaten you even though I am with you?”
“Haa’he, most likely because you are with me. You would make some man a good wife.”
“I already have a husband.”
“I know,” he said, flashing a wink at her. “I am that man.”
“Yes,” she said, “you are that man, I think.”
High Wolf grinned. “I am glad you finally admit it.”
“But,” she said, “you know, as well as I do, that there is still much in the way of our becoming married. There are my country, my people…”
“All things that can be solved with time.”
“Yes, however, I’m not certain why we are going to the place where the prince supposedly died.”
High Wolf looked askance. “Because in that place there will still be clues that might tell me what happened.”
“Will there?” said Sierra. “But I am still uncertain that I understand this. Didn’t you say that the Crow warriors related the entire incident? And that the prince did indeed die there?”
“Haa’he. They did. But again, I do not trust the Crow warriors. They would as easily lie to a Cheyenne as they would to an enemy. No, I would go and see for myself what clues are there.”
“Then you think, after all this time, there will still be clues?”
“I do,” he said. “If it were a battle of great strife, then there will still be signs that might tell me what happened. It is true that the tracks will long be gone, but that is not all that a scout can read from the earth. You will see.”
“Yes,” she said. “I would like that. But I don’t understand why you insist on distrusting the Crow. They were kind. Besides, they were talking to me. What would they have to gain by lying to me?”
High Wolf frowned. “I am uncertain,” he said. “Yet my instinct tells me that they were lying. At any rate, I would see it for myself.”
“Very well.” She sat back against her heels, pulling the wolf skin away from her body. “I still don’t see why we have to travel in the middle of the night, however.”
Again High Wolf grinned. “Are you pouting?”
“I am not pouting. I would just like…a few feminine things, that’s all. I am tired of wearing mud and looking like a wolf.”
“Although I find you a very attractive wolf.”
“And I am glad that you do, but I will be happy to be back at the Mandan village, where I can once again wear my own clothes and look…pretty.”
He put his arm around her. “You are a very pretty wolf.”
She grinned, and losing all argument, fell into his embrace. Glancing up at the sky, she sighed. “What beautiful clouds these are. And it will soon be night, the time when we can once again be moving.”
“Yes.”
“High Wolf, I’ve been wondering, do you believe Shining Arrow? Do you think, truly think, that I am cursed?”
“I believe it is possible.”
“And do you think that I should be frightened?”
“Not very much,” he said. “If you are truly so, you have most likely been cursed for many years, and yet you are still alive.”
“Well, I must admit that it does frighten me.”
“That is understandable. But we are doing something about it. If three of us are needed to be present to break the spell, and if Prince Alathom is still alive, then we must find him and do all we can to break the curse.”
“But if he is dead, as the Crow have said he is, how will we break the spell?”
“I do not know. We can only try.”
“Yes,” she said. “We can try. But what I have a difficult time understanding is, if I have been cursed, why haven’t I been haunted by it? Until Shining Arrow told me, I was unaware of it.”
High Wolf turned his head toward her, frowning. And he said, “You have perceived nothing? Not anything that might have indicated it?”
“No. Nothing…except a few times, I have seen a figure in a fire, but it’s always been at a time of great turmoil, for instance, when the boat caught fire. But it was probably no more than my imagination.”
“Hmmmm.”
“Yes, do you think that is something?”
“I truly don’t know,” he said. “We can only keep alert and watch for other signs that will tell us something.”
“Yes,” she agreed, falling silent. Then, “Do you think we are being unfair to the prince’s memory? That is to say, he was a friend once. Should we not be mourning his loss?”
But High Wolf, far from showing any grief, chuckled. “And this from the woman who was once determined to have his life.” He drew her head down to his shoulder, and then more seriously, he said, “I do not mourn him yet, because I have not settled in my own mind that he is gone.”
“But the Crow said—”
“I know. But we have already discussed this. Those warriors were not being completely truthful. I am certain of it.”
“Very well.” She sat up on her knees to pull the wolf skin more closely around her. Not only did it provid
e adequate disguise, it kept her warm. “Did you notice how much the Minatarree Indians and the Crow Indians are similar in facial characteristics?”
“Haa’he,” he said. “That is because they were once part of the same tribe. The Crow split off from them long ago, but they still remember their kinship, and so you will often find the Crow in the Minatarree village, visiting relatives. It was one of the reasons I wished to go there myself, as I thought I might find word of the prince there.”
“And you were right. How much longer do you think it will be before we will get to the site of the fight?”
Again, he grinned. “You sound like a small child, anxious to get to camp.”
“I am eager to put this behind me.”
He nodded. “The way is not far. Perhaps in a few days.”
“A few days,” she said. “Yes, that would be good.”
The dark shadow shifted ever steadily northward, using the night as its cover. Briefly, at dawn, it hovered over the Minatarree village, but not finding what it sought, it kept on.
The place of the fight was a stunningly beautiful spot. Set against a backdrop of jutting stone cliffs and gentle sloping hills, it was a mixture of dry, golden grass and fresh, green pastures, which continually blew in the wind. A river or stream had once flowed here, and was still trying to do so, for the landscape was spotted with pools of water and sand bars.
It was quiet here; too quiet, she decided, without even the sound of a cricket or a horny toad.
Still, the place was certainly not without its merits. A few willow trees and cottonwoods dotted the cliffs directly above the water line. But mostly the area was surrounded by bush and shrub.
“Stay crouched,” High Wolf instructed her as they hid among a lush growth of bush. “And stay close to me. The Crow might determine that we are coming this way and might have a party hidden here, awaiting us. Do not make any moves without my permission. Do you understand?”
She inclined her head once, in agreement.
“You are to stay here, while I scout out the area and see what I can find. If you hear or see something, or have a problem, you know what to do?”
“Yes,” she said. “I howl like a wolf.”
“And how many times?”
“Two.”
“Good,” he said; “If I find it is safe, or if I discover something of interest, I will come and get you, that you might also see it.”
“Yes,” she said; then, “High Wolf, do be careful. If there are Crow warriors…”
“They will not see me. I promise you. And I will not announce my presence until I am well sure it is safe.”
Pressing his lips against his fingers, he brought them to her lips. “It’s the best I can do for now. I fear, if we attempt more than this for a kiss, we will end up a muddy mess.”
“True,” she said, a half smile pulling at her lips. “So true. I will wait here.”
And with that, he was gone.
She heard singing—low, baritone singing. Softly at first, and then louder and louder, it came to her on the breeze.
High Wolf. High Wolf was singing?
Hey yah. Hey, yah, yah,
Ne-ve’-ea’xaame.
Hey yah. Hey yah, yah.
Ne-sta-va-voomatse.
Hey yah. Hey yah,
Ne-ve’-ea’xaame.
Hey yah. Hey yah.
Ne-sta-va-voomatse.
The song was beautiful, yet mournful, as though High Wolf were pouring his soul into it. Why was he singing like this?
And then she knew. He had found something. Dear Lord, he had found something.
But was it safe for him to be singing? Or, like a bad omen, was this going to bring on danger?
Slowly, she rose up from behind the bush.
And there she saw him…and more. Kneeling in front of a pile of rocks that was topped by a cross, she realized that he was crying over a grave.
Prince Alathom’s?
So the prince was dead, after all.
She stopped still, barely breathing, as though she had become suddenly numb.
But then what was she supposed to feel?
Elation? No, the prince had once been a friend—a very good friend. On the other hand, he had ruined her life. And she had been quite prepared either to take him home with her, or, if he refused, to commit murder.
Should she grieve? No. How could a person grieve for a man she had meant to harm?
And yet she did feel something…but what?
Nostalgia?
True, once, long ago, the three of them had been close, so close they each one would have died to honor the other. But surely she was past all that, wasn’t she?
Funny, she hadn’t thought of Prince Alathom with any degree of affinity for a long time, such a very long time…
But, as though the memory had been sitting there all along, she recalled it now.
The three friends had stood together, toward the back of the ballroom, as His Serene Highness and His Royal Highness, the grand duke, had gained position on the platform of honor.
“Your Majesties, Noblemen, Friends and honored guests,” began His Royal Highness, Grand Duke Colheart. “It is my pleasant task this evening to make an announcement.”
“Come,” whispered Prince Alathom, as he came up behind Sierra and High Wolf, taking hold of both their arms. “It is time. Let us take our place beside our fathers.”
Both the princess and High Wolf nodded as they followed Prince Alathom through the crowd.
“Tonight,” continued His Royal Highness, “we are announcing a long-awaited decision, and without further ado…”
Prince Alathom, Princess Sierra and High Wolf together stepped up the stairs. The princess and High Wolf exchanged smiles.
“…I would like to announce the engagement of my daughter, Princess Sierra Morena Colheart, to His Highness Prince Alathom of Baden-Baden.”
It took a moment for the declaration to secure an effect upon the three friends, for, indeed, it caught them all in the throes of well-wishes, engaging smiles and happiness. But within moments, the horror of the proclamation took its inevitable toll. And all three of them—the prince, princess and High Wolf—stopped as though of one body.
Stunned, no one could utter a word. It was as though the world had suddenly ceased spinning on its axis.
But alas, time waited for no mortal man, and it marched forward with a certain vindictiveness. And when His Serene Highness, Prince Eric, at last spoke, saying, “A toast, if you please, to the happiness of both the prince and princess,” together the three friends stared straight ahead, not one of them able to do more than gape.
From afar, Sierra heard murmurs of glad tidings, and all in the room, except these three, took up their glasses and drank.
“Come forward, Prince Alathom and Princess Sierra,” said His Serene Highness, “for I hold in my hand the engagement ring passed down from each monarch in our family. Come.”
Neither the prince nor the princess moved, not even a single motion. At last, servants came down the steps toward them to help the prince and princess.
For, as though they were both caught up in the same nightmare, they had to be escorted forward. The ring was produced, shoved into the prince’s hand. But instead of placing it on her finger, he whispered to her, “I knew nothing of this.”
“Nor did I.”
“It must be a mistake.”
“Yes,” said Sierra. “Let us smile at our friends and leave here at once that we might speak with our fathers.”
“Put it on her finger,” His Serene Highness ordered, interrupting them.
“But Father…”
“Put it on her finger.”
Alathom did as ordered, jumping back from the princess as if he had been burned by doing so. Dazedly, they stared at each other, as though they had committed the ultimate sin.
In a moment, however, the prince took heart, and grabbing hold of Sierra’s hand, he helped her descend a few steps to where High Wolf waited, a
nd tapping him on the shoulder, he said, “We must all go and talk to our fathers, away from these people and this madness. Come.”
High Wolf remained silent, while Sierra bowed her head, also unable to utter a word. And she wondered if her countenance mirrored the look of horror she espied on High Wolf’s face.
“Come,” said Prince Alathom. “It is a mistake. I am certain of it. Let us go and see what we can do to repair it.”
Still, neither High Wolf nor the princess said a word, but rather they both turned glibly around and followed their friend up the stairs, glad for the moment that one of them had their wits about him…
Yes, at one time, Prince Alathom had been one of her best friends. Both had argued with their respective parents, Prince Alathom’s voice being the loudest. Meanwhile, High Wolf had stood toward the back of the room, listening, but not joining in, not speaking at all.
In time, however, it became clear that neither set of parents would relinquish their point of view. And that was when the three of them had hatched another plan.
All three would leave and sail to Scotland, where Sierra and High Wolf could be married quickly. And with the deed done, then and only then would they return to Baden-Baden.
The rest was a matter of the past.
But now the prince was dead…dead…
And instead of crying, Sierra wanted to damn his soul. How dare he leave her, once again?
Hey, yah, yah. Hey, yah, yah,
Ne-ve’-ea’xaame.
Hey, yah, yah. Hey, yah, yah
Ne-sta-va-voomatse.
Hey, yah, yah. Hey, yah, yah,
Ne-ve’-ea’xaame.
Hey, yah, yah. Hey, yah, yah,
Ne-sta-va-voomatse.
And yet, there was High Wolf, grieving for his friend, his brother. And as she listened to him, to the beauty of his voice, his grief, his tears; a wetness at last filled her eyes.
What had happened to the three of them? Why had Prince Alathom left, refusing his responsibilities? Leaving her to fend off the wolves, alone?