by Karen Kay
When had this happened to her? When had she begun to feel? To put the welfare of another on an equal footing with that of her own?
She didn’t know. All she knew, all she could think of at present, was him, his well-being; and for the first time in her life, she made a decision to act, not for herself or for her own behalf, but for the good of another.
She loved White Eagle; she loved him more than life itself, and she would tell him. Henceforth, if he went into danger, then she decided, so, too, would she. And, by goodness, she vowed to herself, she would keep him safe.
Let someone try to hurt him. They would have her to contend with.
She jutted her chin out and, gazing down at Strikes Two, she called up to mind what little she could remember of the Blackfoot language. She had known it once; she would know it again.
Shaking with anticipation, she said, “Niistonnaan sapaat.”
And Strikes Two, gazing at the departing figures of the riders, replied, “Soka’piiwa, niistonnaan sapaat.”
That had them both staring at one another in an odd fashion. And slowly, both of them smiled.
Chapter Nineteen
Mount Rising Wolf sat to the west of the travelers, its sharp, rugged form silhouetted against the setting sun, its rays still rising golden below the peaks, although the sky began to show the telltale signs of the pink and orange of an approaching evening.
They traveled north, over the Old North Trail, a path that she had been told had been traveled by countless Indians since “time before mind.”
In true Indian fashion, as soon as Strikes Two had discovered that she wished to follow and to reach the war party, they had started out at once, with little baggage to weigh them down; Strikes Two comforted her in the Blackfoot language, as well as with signs, by telling her that he could provide for her until they caught up with the others.
Katrina continued to be more than a little amazed by the young lad. He couldn’t have been over twelve years of age, but he was wise in ways that she could little understand, and, in temperament, he appeared more mature than many of her “civilized” acquaintances, who had to be more than a decade older than the boy.
She and the youth rode upon ponies, both mounts having been caught and saddled by Strikes Two, the lad explaining by way of gestures that the animals he had chosen belonged to White Eagle.
She glanced toward the ever-darkening sky, wondering if she and Strikes Two would catch up to the others by nightfall. She hoped that they would, since she did not wish to remain in the wilds overnight with only a small boy for protection.
However, it was not to be.
Strikes Two made camp shortly before evening, in a meadow of tall grasses, near a stream that rushed and flowed over rocks and sand. Katrina discovered that the water there, its source originating from mountain streams, tasted cool and refreshing. Dipping her skirt into the water, and using it as one might a bowl, she washed her hands and face before returning to the place where Strikes Two had built a small fire and spread out two buffalo robes upon the ground.
She sat on one of those robes, looking curiously toward Strikes Two, wondering about their evening meal and worrying over how she could even begin to ask him about it. She didn’t have long to ponder it, however, since Strikes Two, as though attuned to her inner thoughts, broke out his parfleche and took out strips of sun-dried buffalo meat.
“Yaak-Iowat-aa-yi amo-ksi,” Strikes Two said to her, pointing to his store of pemmican and buffalo strips. Katrina watched him for several moments before beginning to understand, by way of gestures and a faint recollection of the language, that the boy meant to share his treasure with her. This, she finally realized, would be their evening feast.
“Thank you,” she said. Strikes Two nodded toward her.
The buffalo strips were dry, but at least they were food, and, as soon as she had eaten, she fell asleep, amazed to discover how truly tired she was. But then, she hadn’t caught much rest the previous evening, so perhaps that was to be expected.
The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was yawning, and then, with what seemed like no time elapsing, Strikes Two was touching her on the shoulder, saying to her, “Niipowaoot!”
She opened her eyes to look into the curious glance of the lad.
She moaned and stretched. “What time is it?”
Strikes Two didn’t answer, he just gazed at her for a moment, shrugging his shoulders before he rose to his feet.
It must have been about four o’clock in the morning, she decided, glancing overhead at the still-darkened sky, thankful that White Eagle had taught her how to estimate the time of the day by the heavenly bodies.
Strikes Two motioned toward her, then pointed to the trail, and she knew he was telling her that it was time to be leaving.
Strangely enough, they were packed and ready to move within minutes, Katrina taking note of how swiftly Strikes Two had packed their belongings. And with no more than a quick splashing of water on her face, she mounted her pony and followed Strikes Two out upon the trail.
Heavy clouds had settled over the mountains in the west during the night, the cloudy presence creating a fog over the land. She could see very little, barely able to keep Strikes Two within her sight, and she wondered how the boy knew where to go.
She drew the buffalo robe—supplied to her by Strikes Two—more fully around her shoulders, and they began to climb toward a summit in the mountains, the cool north wind blowing in and bringing with it what looked to be a fast-moving storm.
But they reached the summit without a sudden shower, and as soon as they had ascended to the other side, a spectacular view presented itself to them, the fog having lifted from this side of the mountain. A meadow spread out below them, and there, clearly in view in the silvery light of dawn, camped their war party, the men, visible to her now, beginning to stir within that camp.
She did have a curious thought as to how she and the lad had come upon the party so easily, but she forgot to question it, as Strikes Two turned to her. She gave the boy a quick glance, and he smiled at her; a beautiful gesture, she decided. And she felt her heart go out to the lad. How wise he was for one so young, and how sweet. She promised herself that she would present him with the most beautiful gift that she could fashion, as soon as she was able.
“Pokitapiwa po’kfoot!”
Katrina jumped and glanced quickly around her. She shrieked. An Indian had suddenly materialized at her side, this Indian wearing a wolf’s head and its skin over the greater portion of his body, and black paint upon his face. He looked more frightening than he would have, had he been the personification of death, looming over her.
Her pony bridled under her, and she almost screamed again, but Strikes Two came to her rescue, taking hold of her reins and calming her mount with the murmuring of a few gentle words.
It took him only a moment, and then the lad looked up to her, giving her yet another grin, and, pointing to the awful-looking Indian, he said, “Napi.”
It was only then that she became aware that this horrible-looking fellow, who had materialized before them, was a part of White Eagle’s party, so meant them no harm.
Still, she couldn’t look at the man without shivering, and the Indian gave her no hint of friendliness.
Presently, the man stared at Strikes Two, and then at her, and commanded them by saying, “Po’kioot!” and she and the boy followed the Indian into the main camp.
The first thing she noticed when they approached the party was the smell of smoke, though she could see no fires, nor could she find any sign of a blaze. Off to the side of the camp stood the group’s ponies, which despite having been hobbled, were being watched over by a sentry.
The temporary lodges pitched here bore no resemblance to tepees. Made of willow branches, these shelters were covered with grass and were built low to the ground, which would have made it necessary to bend low in order to enter them. However, they were gradually being torn down, as the war party made to l
eave camp. Katrina glanced around her, noting that the men—and there were eight of them—all watched her.
The next thing she glimpsed was White Eagle, suddenly standing before her, his legs spread out wide, his arms crossed over his chest.
He looked angry.
She gulped. She had never seen him in this mood, and, briefly, her courage deserted her.
Though she began to feel strange and out of place, she vowed she would not show it. She threw back her head and stared at White Eagle, her look at him as haughty as she could possibly make it. Her mount came to a halt, all on its own, just at its master’s feet.
“Haiya!” White Eagle grabbed hold of her buckskin reins, effectively taking them out of her hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked her in English.
He had caught her without her knowing what to say. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this. And so she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. Presently, however, she said, as steadily as she was able, “I have come to help you.”
“Humph!” He glared up at her, and she made the odd observation that he didn’t seem uncomfortable in his role of tyrant, as he said, “There is no help that you can give me here. You will go back at once.”
“No.” She said the word calmly, for all that she shivered beneath her robe.
He scowled up at her, but he didn’t say a word, and it gave her courage to continue speaking, saying, “I have helped you already.”
“And how have you done this?” he asked. “How have you come to my assistance?”
“By spotting your camp so easily,” she replied. “I am only a white woman. Surely you must know that if I can find you with so little effort, any enemy could do the same.”
Not a single trace of emotion crossed over his features as he glanced over her, his cutting gaze taking in everything about her, from the top of her head to the tips of her slippers.
When he spoke, his voice carried not the least bit of emotion as he said, “Are you so novice that you do not know that we have had you in our sight since yesterday afternoon? Do you not realize that we have delayed moving our camp this morning only to allow you to catch up to us? Had we not meant you to find us, you would never have come upon us.”
She supposed she should have just acknowledged him and all he said, but she couldn’t help pointing out, “Strikes Two would have.”
“By himself, perhaps,” White Eagle conceded, “but being burdened with you has not allowed him to travel as quickly as he would have needed to do in order to catch us. No, we waited, not wishing you to become stranded.”
She raised her chin. “Very well. Nevertheless, I am not going back.”
“You are.”
“You will have to make me.”
“I could.”
“But I would only leave again to try to find you.”
That statement seemed to stop him, and he hesitated for several moments before he moved, before he spoke, before he did anything. He stared up at her. It was all he did. And though she began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his glare, she vowed she wouldn’t let him see it. And so, lifting her chin, she peered down at him, her determination giving her strength.
At length, however, never once averting his gaze, he became seemingly at ease, and she thought she caught a look of deviltry flicker across his features before he said, “If Shines Like Moonlight decides to stay with us, she would be required to wait upon us—all of us.”
He continued to stare at her, as though he scrutinized her features for reaction to this news.
Well, he could look all he wanted, she decided. She had come this far, she was not going to go back, and he might as well get used to the idea. She shook back the locks of her hair, which had become loosened.
And she might have said something, but White Eagle continued, saying to her, “If she stays, Shines Like Moonlight will be required to bring water to me and to the other warriors, anytime that we desire to have water, day or night; she will have to fix our meals and care for our fires and mend our clothing. She will have to do the chores that would be required of any Indian woman. And I do not think Shines Like Moonlight is ready to do that.”
Katrina didn’t think she was, either, but she wasn’t going to tell him so. Instead she said, with more than a little bravado in her speech, “I can do anything an Indian woman can do.”
White Eagle grinned, but Katrina was not too pleased to see it, the man appearing far too cocky. And when he said, a note of mockery in his voice, “Shines Like Moonlight has tongue like crow for boasting, I think,” she felt herself burst.
“I do not,” she countered at once, dismounting from her pony and turning to stride confidently toward White Eagle. She took a pose in front of him, clearly meant to challenge him, and, with legs spread apart in imitation of his stance, elbows out, she brought her hands, clinched into fists, to rest upon her hips.
He did not miss her intention, she was certain of it, but still, not a trace of emotion, negative or otherwise, showed upon his countenance, as he said, “If Shines Like Moonlight were Indian, I might let her accompany us, but she is not and so she must return.”
“I am not going to go back to the fort, and what does being Indian have to do with any of this?”
“You are and very much.”
“What specifically? And I am not.”
“Indian women have sometimes gone out with war parties. You are going back.”
“They have…? Am not.”
He nodded. “It is not often, though, and these women were Indian, Pikuni, able to keep up with the party and not become a hindrance. And you are going back.”
“I resent that. My race has nothing to do with this. And I refuse to go back.”
“Haiya!” he muttered. He glared at her a moment more before he turned, presenting her with the handsome image of his backside. “Haiya,” he uttered again, as he paced a short distance away from her, then, turning around, he retraced his steps.
She watched him closely, taking note of his movement, while she stood still. “I am going with you.”
He came to stand directly over her, his face coming within inches of hers. “Has Shines Like Moonlight considered that she might become captive of Assiniboin if she comes with me? Does Shines Like Moonlight know what it would be like to become captive of Assiniboin or Cree?”
She shivered but only slightly. “I’m willing to take that chance.”
He hesitated for some time before he said anything further, and when he did, at last, he turned around to stare at her, and, gesturing off toward the countryside, he said, “If Shines Like Moonlight were Indian, she would be at home in this country.
Were she Indian, she would know what would await her if she became captive. And, were she Indian, she would only then be able to judge if she were willing to take chance of becoming captive. But Shines Like Moonlight is white and has grown up in white environment. Like a baby, she does not realize what could be in her future if this were to happen to her. And she speaks, I think, with more courage than sense.”
Katrina bristled at that remark and stuck out her chin. “I resent that.”
“That is too bad, for I have already spoken. I will have Strikes Two take you back to the white man’s fort at once.”
“I will not go.”
He paused. He looked heavenward, as though calling upon the forces of nature for guidance. And he shook his head. Presently, however, he glanced back to her, his hand coming out to touch her dress. And when he spoke again, his voice emphatic, he said, “If Shines Like Moonlight comes with me, she will be required to wear men’s clothing, so that she will not attract so much attention to herself.”
Men’s clothing? Weren’t those animal skins? Heaven forbid. Katrina gulped, but she would not back down now, especially when she knew he goaded her. And so she found herself saying, “That’s fine with me,” though she knew that she lied. And, as if to give emphasis to her determination, she added, “I wouldn’t want to mus
s my dress, anyway.”
He breathed out deeply. “We will not be able to have married relations while we are on the trail.”
“That’s just as well. There are too many people about to make me feel comfortable.”
He sighed. “I do not like it.”
“I know,” she said, “but I am determined.”
He turned away from her, and she was happy to notice a look of resignation on his face.
“Very well,” he said, “but you are to wait on us, and you are to do it all without the least complaint. For if you do whine, the others will mock you, and there is nothing I can do to keep them from doing this. It is the way of things. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“And when the time comes, you are to keep well away from any fighting. Do you promise?”
Another nod.
“So be it,” he said, and, with only the barest of glances in her direction, he turned and walked away from her, leaving Katrina to do nothing more than stare at the rhythmic steps of his walk and to note the strength of his very broad back.
It was really too bad that they weren’t going to be able to have marital relations.
Oh, well, she thought, and she sighed.
White Eagle watched Shines Like Moonlight from a spot on an incline where the grove of trees hid his presence from her. She was trying to light the evening fire, but she was not making good work of it.
He sighed. He knew that she had never used the stones of flint until now, but somehow he had thought she might take to the task a little more readily than she was doing.
And he wondered: How much longer could he and his warriors endure her “help”?
The way she hit the stones together was never going to make anything spark, nor would she be able to create a fire if she didn’t place some tinder below where she worked.
The puffs of grass that she used were not dry enough to cause anything to ignite. However, the sound that she made from striking the stones had a sort of rhythm, and he found himself tapping his foot to that beat.
He supposed he would have to go down there—yet again—to show her the proper way to ignite the fire. But even that wouldn’t solve their party’s problems with her, and he knew it.