Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I…I need help. I mean…Sage needs help.” Her eyes teared. “I don’t know what else to do for him! Please help me!”

  The two stepped carefully inside, and Walks Slowly shut the door while Red Dog looked over at Sage, afraid to make any sudden moves in front of the crazy woman with the rifle. “What wrong Sage?”

  She slowly lowered the gun. “He was attacked…by a bear. It came after me, and he shot it…but it kept coming for him. It finally died, but not before it hurt Sage.” Her violet eyes were pleading then. “Please…do you know how to help him? I think the claw cuts on his chest are infected badly. Maybe…maybe you Indians know of something…”

  Red Dog’s cautious eyes moved to the rifle again. She had lowered it but still held it.

  “Woman no shoot?”

  She looked down at the gun, then set it aside. It took all her strength and bravery to do so. Red Dog was not an extremely big man, but he looked hard and strong, and his friend was even bigger. Yet there was kindness in their eyes, and their expressions told her that they were actually a little bit afraid of her, too. She watched them carefully for a moment as she stood there without the gun. Something about painted men terrified her, but she knew these two considered Sage their friend, and the one looking at her now had helped her once.

  “I…I just had to be sure who it was,” she said nervously.

  Red Dog turned and walked over to where Sage lay. He knelt down beside the man, pulling back the blankets. He said something in his own tongue to Walks Slowly. The man grunted and nodded, going back outside.

  Mary hurried over and put more wood on the fire to warm the cabin again. She stayed by the fireplace then, watching Red Dog as he cut off the bandages. He looked over the wounds carefully then touched Sage’s face.

  “No hair on face,” he commented.

  “I shaved it off.”

  Red Dog looked up at her with a scowl. “Sage be angry. Like hair on face.”

  “I know. But I thought the wounds would heal more cleanly without it.”

  Red Dog nodded, moving his eyes to the chest wounds again. “Bad. Very bad.” He looked up at her. “How you fix?”

  “I…I washed the wounds and wrapped them. This morning I dumped whiskey on them and wrapped them again. I didn’t know what else to do. He lost a lot of blood when it happened. He’s been so weak ever since. He’s such a strong man that when he’s this sick it frightens me. He…he won’t die, will he?”

  Red Dog just frowned. “No can say. Maybe die. Maybe not. Red Dog help.”

  Walks Slowly came back inside then.

  “Can I help you?” Mary asked Red Dog.

  The man shook his head, noticing the warm rocks around Sage. “This good. You not such crazy woman. Indians use warm rock, too. Where you learn this?”

  She stepped a little closer. “I don’t know. I remembered someone…a woman…putting hot rocks around my feet once when I was ill. I can’t remember who it was, but that’s how I got the idea.”

  “Mother, maybe.”

  He turned and said something in his own tongue to Walks Slowly. Mary thought for a moment. Mother. She must have a mother somewhere but she could not think about that now. There was only Sage. He was the only thing she could think about right now. Poor Sage. His breathing was so shallow, his body so lifeless.

  Walks Slowly took a leather pouch from a parfleche he had brought inside. Red Dog took it and held it up, as though in some kind of worship. He sat there for several long seconds and the cabin fell silent. Then he began a soft chant. Mary’s eyes widened, and the panic crept into her bones again. Chanting! Chanting! Where had she heard that sound?

  Walks Slowly joined in the chanting then. Mary moved back, feeling cold all over, suppressing an urge to scream. She reminded herself that this was Red Dog, Sage’s friend. This must be their way of praying, their way of helping a friend. If there was anything they could do, she had to let them do it, and she had to stay calm in case they needed her help.

  Red Dog took the little pouch and reached inside it. He said something more to Walks Slowly, and the man came around and rolled up some of the blankets, shoving them under Sage’s head so that he sat up more.

  “Keep head up,” he told Mary then. “Wounded man who lie flat long time die of cough. Indians learn this long ago.”

  He began chanting again, taking green and yellow leaves from the pouch and laying them over the open wounds, gently pressing them into the infected area as he moved along each cut. Sage groaned at every touch.

  “Come sit by man,” Red Dog told her then. “Man need to know woman is close. You heal when Sage help. Now Sage heal when you help.”

  Mary cautiously moved closer, still afraid of the Indians. But her love for Sage was helping conquer her fears. He came first. She could do anything if it meant helping him live. She knelt near his head, her eyes on Red Dog’s at first. They held for several seconds.

  “Sage my friend. He save Red Dog once. Now Red Dog will help his white friend. You no be afraid of Red Dog. You Sage’s woman. Red Dog not harm.”

  She nodded, seeing honesty in his eyes. A distant memory told her men like this were supposed to be bad—cruel and wild. But Red Dog was not that way. She had to learn to trust him, for Sage’s sake. She leaned over Sage, putting her hands on the sides of his face.

  “It’s all right, Sage. Red Dog is here. He’s going to help you,” she told him, hoping he understood.

  Red Dog returned to applying the herbs, and Mary held Sage’s head firmly when he moaned, leaning down and kissing his forehead, assuring him he would get better. She felt the panic again when Walks Slowly began shaking a rattle. She moved frightened eyes to look at him. He was much older than Red Dog, his hair a wild shock of gray and black, tied into one tail at his neck. He had removed a huge buffalo robe and wore beaded buckskins beneath it. A yellow scarf was tied around his neck, and she wondered where he had gotten it, for it looked more like something a white woman would wear.

  Walks Slowly was not a handsome man. His black eyes were bloodshot and his face was very wide, as was his nose. He had the look of a man always in a bad mood. All the lines of his face went down, as though he had never smiled in his life. But he was a quiet man from whom she sensed no danger, despite his forbidding looks. He spoke little. She remembered that from when they had first visited Sage, when they had surprised him the first time she had ever seen these two Indian men. Why did she remember such things so clearly, but could not remember anything beyond the day Sage had found her?

  She moved her eyes to Red Dog and saw in his own eyes a great concern for his friend Sage. Surely these men were not bad. They were helping a white man the best way they knew how, and they truly seemed to care about him. It was the first time she had looked at Red Dog and Walks Slowly as human beings. Red Dog was actually quite handsome, probably no older than Sage. He had fine features, a straight nose and full lips, high cheekbones and a firm chin. His hair was blue-black and looked clean. It was tied into two tails on either side of his face, and each tail was wrapped in some kind of fur. There were beads wound into his hair on one side, and he wore a beaded necklace of many strands. He, too, had worn a buffalo robe when they first had entered, but now he was placing it over Sage to make him even warmer.

  It was only then she realized neither of them had paint on their faces at all! She had only imagined it was there. Why had she thought they were painted? What did her subconscious mind know that told her these dark men who wore buckskins and were so wild looking usually had painted faces? Had she seen other painted faces? She was sure she had, somewhere…somewhere. And she had heard chanting, heard rattles. And she was sure it had something to do with something terrible that had happened to her. If only she could remember.

  Painted faces, rattles, chanting, buckskins, dark skin, blood. It all combined with the other memories—the grand table, a big house, warm rocks at her feet. Even when she thought of Sage’s getting well and being able to make love to her again, she c
ould not help but wonder whether she had known a man that way before. And if she had…

  No. She had only this life now—only Sage. Her handsome, strong, protective, wonderful Sage. He had risked his life for her more than once already. He must live. He must! What would she do without Sage?

  Red Dog continued applying the herbs, gently pressing them into every wound, seeming to pay no heed to Sage’s groans. Walks Slowly moved to throw something into the flames in the fireplace. It made a fragrant smoke. The man looked around, picking up a tin plate and scooping it into the ashes so that some of the embers went into the pan. He brought it closer and sprinkled more of the strange herbs into the hot coals, fanning the fragrant smoke over Sage’s face while Red Dog began chanting again.

  Sage lay quiet, his head in Mary’s lap. After several minutes Red Dog stopped chanting and just stared down at Sage, great sorrow in his eyes.

  “Sage good friend,” he declared then.

  Walks Slowly continued to fan the smoke across Sage’s face.

  Mary looked up at Red Dog, amazed that these men were capable of caring. Somehow she knew another feeling, a feeling of hatred and revulsion. Something told her these people with dark skin were somehow inhuman, but at this moment Red Dog was very human. And hadn’t he and his wife helped her before, when she had been lost and sick? Seeing him this way removed all remaining fear of him, yet she knew there had been others—others with dark skin—who had not been kind. She could not quite grasp the memory.

  “How do you know Sage so well,” she asked the man.

  His dark eyes moved to meet hers. He squinted, studying her. “Crazy woman not so crazy now?”

  She had to smile at the words. “Things have come back to me slowly, Red Dog. I still don’t remember where I come from. But I remember other things. I know enough to realize something happened to me and I’ve had a loss of memory. And I know enough to know Sage is a good man, and I love him.”

  Red Dog nodded. “Know Sage long time—since very young men. He come here—know nothing—get lost. Come into our camp. We make fun—scare him. But he get mad, fight back. He stay with us. We become good friends—blood brothers. Cut hands. Mix blood. We fight Crow once. Sage save Red Dog from Crow warrior who come at Red Dog from behind. Get wounded. Red Dog never forget. Sage good man. He helps me. Red Dog helps Sage. Sage teach Red Dog white man tongue. He go off—trap beaver. Sometimes many moons before Red Dog sees him again. But still we are friends.”

  She smiled softly. “Thank you for staying to help, Red Dog. I was afraid of you, but not anymore. I have memories…of other men like you…but I can’t truly place them.”

  “Sometimes Indian fight white man. White man fight Indian. Kill each other’s women—or steal them. Maybe that happen you. Red Dog sees Indian woman’s dress you wear when Sage find you. Never see such design.”

  Mary felt her heart quickening. “A man at the fort—he said it looked like a Comanche design. I remember his saying that. When I hear the name—” She took a deep breath. “For some reason it frightens me. I…I don’t like that name.”

  Red Dog looked at Walks Slowly, saying something in their own tongue, ending with Comanche. Mary looked up at the man, and Walks Slowly frowned. He said something back to Red Dog, who turned to Mary.

  “Comanche maybe three moons from here. That long way. You are a woman from far places maybe.”

  She looked down at Sage. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think maybe I am.”

  “Someday you remember. Sage take you there maybe.”

  It made her heart heavy to think about it. “I suppose he would. I suppose I would have to go, once I remember. But I wouldn’t want to go. I love Sage. I want to stay with him.”

  “Red Dog never know man or woman who remembers no past. It is very strange.”

  She nodded. “Yes. And it’s very frightening, Red Dog. This is becoming more and more my world—these mountains, this little cabin, Sage. I’m so scared that one day it will all end, and I don’t want it to end.”

  Walks Slowly began waving the smoke over Sage’s face again.

  “I think one day Sage will take you to this faraway place where you are from. And I think when he does, Red Dog will never see him again.”

  Their eyes held. Then she shook her head. “Sage could never leave these mountains for good.”

  “He would leave them—for you. Red Dog is sure of this.”

  Her heart felt heavy again. How she loved him! But she couldn’t take him from this land he loved so much. She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, making him leave here.”

  “One day you will remember. Sage take you to this place far away. He not want leave you. He go into white man’s world and see where he belong. He not come back to these mountains. And Red Dog will lose his good friend. It saddens Red Dog’s heart, but he saw this long ago, even when Sage was young. Sage forgets he is white man. You make him remember. He go where he belong—Red Dog stays where he belong. It is the right thing—the way the Spirits say it should be. Sage lives like Indian, but his heart is white. Only Indian can be Indian whole life.”

  She was surprised at the man’s wisdom, the way he had of saying just what he felt, and his insight into a man’s heart.

  “You’re a very wise man, Red Dog,” she told him. “But Sage cares for you as a friend. He would find a way to come see you, I’m sure.”

  The man shook his head. “I think not.” He met her eyes again. “You strong woman. Have much power over Sage, I think. Always before, just Sage. Now Sage and woman. Sage not be this way before.”

  She smiled again. “Hasn’t he ever had a woman before—someone special?”

  Walks Slowly shook some rattles over Sage as they talked, then set them aside and waved more smoke over Sage. Mary breathed deeply of the fragrance, which had a calming effect on her and made her feel light-headed.

  “No woman. Painted ladies who sleep with many men. He tell Red Dog about those women.”

  She felt an odd jealousy rising in her heart. Painted ladies?

  “Bad Indian women,” Red Dog went on. “Kind like sleep with white men for pretty gifts.”

  “He’s slept with Indian women?”

  Red Dog subdued a smile. “Man has needs. Now he has you, like Red Dog has woman. One woman—like best. It good have one woman. Find good woman—no want others.”

  She quelled the jealous feeling and stroked his hair. Yes. She was his only woman now—his special woman. She wished he would get well. She remembered making love—wanted to do it again. She wanted him to be well and strong and alive and holding her in his arms. Everything that happened to him lately had been her fault. She had changed his life so. She only hoped she would not hurt him terribly when she learned the truth about her past. But if she did, she would be hurting also. There seemed to be no easy answer to their future. They could not live it as they chose, for any day everything could change.

  Red Dog rose. “Red Dog take care of horses.”

  She looked up at him. “Did you see other horses out there? I don’t know what happened to ours.”

  “No see horses. Red Dog go look. Maybe find horses. Come back soon. Stay with Sage until better. No leave.”

  She smiled through tears. “Thank you for what you’re doing. It’s such a relief to have someone here who can help me. I was so afraid.”

  The man made a strange grunting sound. “White women fear too many things,” he commented. He picked up Walks Slowly’s buffalo robe and slung it around his shoulders, going out the door. Walks Slowly waved more smoke over Sage, moving his bloodshot eyes to meet Mary’s. She smiled, unsure what else she should do. He only scowled and picked up the rattles again. She told herself not to be afraid of the man. This apparently was the way he always behaved. He probably didn’t have much use for white women and cabins. He was only doing this because he was Red Dog’s friend, and Sage meant a lot to Red Dog. She wished she knew how to thank the man, but he spoke no English.

  She looked down at S
age, wondering how on earth she had ended up here in a little cabin in the mountains, sitting with a man she hardly knew yet loved, sharing conversation with a wild Indian, breathing the smoke from some secret herb, and listening to the chanting of some aboriginal ritual.

  She remembered so much now. She felt so normal, so aware. It had taken this man’s love, and the fear of losing him, to bring it all out of her. There was really little left now but to learn what had happened to her before Sage had found her—who she was and where she came from—and to discover what had happened between the morning Sage had left her to go cut wood and the time the bear had come running after her. Something was missing in between. As soon as Sage was better, she would ask him what it was.

  All through that night the chanting continued, while Sage’s fever raged even worse.

  “It is the bad spirits of sickness coming out of him,” Red Dog assured Mary. “Soon they will all be gone, and he will be whole again.”

  Mary had her doubts about this Indian remedy as she constantly bathed Sage’s face and listened to his groans. She told herself to have more confidence. These Indians had lived in this land and had done their own doctoring for centuries. What alternative was there, other than to let Sage lie there and die?

  Deep into the night she tried to stay awake. Neither Red Dog nor Walks Slowly seemed at all tired. They continued their faithful watch and chanting and praying; but Mary could no longer stay awake. Everything ached from so much tension, and without realizing it, her head wilted until she fell asleep beside Sage, her head near his feet.

  She awoke when someone gently nudged her shoulder. She sat up, confused at first, every bone and muscle seeming to hurt.

  “You going to just lie there and sleep all day, or do you think maybe you can make your man something to eat?” she heard Sage ask her. “When a man like me goes this long without vittles, he’s powerful hungry.”

  She was fully awake then, and she leaned closer, feeling his forehead. “Sage! Your fever is gone.”

  “I think I remember telling you not to worry.”