by Sadie Conall
The Bannock men recognized them both, incredulous as to why they were there. “We shall talk later,” one of the elders yelled above the noise, turning to raise his hand to push the Bannock riders on, as several other men turned to ride towards them.
The other elder stayed with Ryder and Te’tukhe, sitting astride his horse to wave men on as they glanced across at the brothers. He didn’t ask them to join in, to ride alongside those horses and help corral them, but they didn’t take offence from it, for the Bannock rode like any other regimented force, with each man knowing his place and his job. A new man could bring chaos.
And at last the herd of horses finally began to thin out, leaving mares and foals and older horses straggling behind. And then Ryder saw him way across on the far side of the valley. Ese-ggwe’na’a.
He looked the same, although it was impossible to see his features clearly from this distance. He glanced across at the three men sitting astride their horses high up on the bank in the foothills, but unable to turn his horse around or ride back through the few dozen horses still coming, he rode on, but without any form of greeting, or recognition. Te’tukhe saw him also and as he pointed, the elder nodded.
“Come, we’ll go to him, he’ll be pleased to see you after all these years.”
But Ryder paused. “You go, brother. I have someone else to find first.”
Te’tukhe nodded, understanding at once, then kicked his horse on, following the elder out of the foothills and down into the valley. By the time they reached that lush flat land the last of the horses had gone, yet a few young boys came riding up behind on ponies. Te’tukhe called out to them in bannaite’, offering the sign of friendship and along with the elder, they rode with him back to camp, following behind Ese-ggwe’na’a.
Ryder watched him until he was just a dark smudge way down the valley then he turned and glanced back to the north, through that cloud of dust which lingered above the Plain. Other men were coming now, packhorses behind them pulling travois, carrying teepees and furs and other belongings. And behind them would be the Bannock women and children. But they were on foot and perhaps hours away yet.
Although maybe he could hurry the journey of one of those women along.
Four
The high cloud of dust continued to rise as Madeleine pushed the girls and children back into the woods, to take shelter there with the dogs. Then she ran back to the teepees, gathering as many muskets as she could carry along with powder and shot, for if they had this wrong and these men weren’t Bannock, then they faced a battle they had no hope of winning.
With fingers that trembled, Madeleine primed and readied the muskets for firing, glancing over towards the north-western ridge where Ryder and Te’tukhe had gone to hunt and set beaver traps. They would have heard the horses by now, for the noise of them and the shouts of men echoed out across the Plain. She placed the muskets at her feet then once again reached for the spyglass and held it to her eyes. Too many men to count, herding the horses straight towards that shallow part of the river. Whoever they were, they would be here within minutes. And all Madeleine and the girls could do until then was keep the children safe, and wait.
*
The first of the horses entered the river which became a thrashing, churning thing as hundreds of hooves stirred up water and river sand, their high-pitched neighs and snorts rising above the sound of men shouting as the horses were herded out of the shallow depths towards that natural corral between the gorge, the forest and the deepest part of the river.
But as the men’s voices drifted over towards that small group taking shelter in the trees, the girls turned to Madeleine in astonishment, even as Deinde'-paggwe began to cry.
“Who are they Mama?” Harry asked, his small body leaning towards her in fear.
Madeleine put down her musket and moved to kneel, taking the little boy in her arms. “They’re family deaipede’tuine,” she said, looking up as Poongatse moved to embrace Deinde'-paggwe. “They’re Bannock.”
It was Wannge’e who took the first step out of the trees, the dogs following her, barking and whining at all the noise. Deinde'-paggwe and Poongatse followed with Kimana between them, yet the little girl was unsure of all these men and horses for the noise was overwhelming along with the smells of dust and horseflesh. When she began to whimper in fear, Deinde'-paggwe picked her up, holding her close, even as the child pushed her head into her mother’s shoulder, seeking safety there.
The first of the horses left the river and stepped up onto that fertile strip of land, the yells from the men more urgent now as they worked together, riding hard on each flank of the herd to keep the animals close, making it easier to push them on, towards that natural corral. Harry pushed Madeleine away and ran after the girls, jumping up and down with excitement until Poongatse quietened him.
As the first of the men passed by, a good mile from the little group watching from the bank, they glanced over towards the girls and the two teepees and then the dogs with both curiosity and surprise. But no-one dared leave his place in herding the horses to ride over and speak to them. Not yet.
As the horses thundered on by, they could just make out dozens of other men on the left-hand flank, some three miles away or more, making sure the horses crossed at the shallowest part of the river.
Madeleine paused before joining the girls, knowing that a lot of these men would ride back to see who they were once the horses were settled, so she quickly moved to hide all the muskets under some ferns, knowing she couldn’t carry them back to the teepee now, not in full view of so many. She would deal with them later, but now wasn’t the time to reveal them to the Bannock. Ese-ggwe’na’a must see them first. These muskets were her gift to him. What he did with them later, was for him to decide.
Once the muskets were concealed Madeleine joined Harry and the girls to hold the dogs back, the animals going berserk as dozens of men and horses continued to ride on by. When they began to thin out at last, riders with packhorses pulling travois began to appear some miles further down the Plain. By the time they reached the river, Madeleine pointed with excitement, recognizing one of the men who rode in the lead.
It was Atsa-wannge’e, Deinde'-paggwe’s younger brother. As he left the river, glancing back at the two packhorses behind him pulling travois, he flicked his rawhide reins and turned towards them. When he reined his horse in just below the bank, he looked up at them in bewilderment, then at last he dismounted and ran up the bank, yet he paused before Deinde'-paggwe, unsure, for she held Kimana in her arms. And then he saw the dogs. He had never seen an animal like this before and took a step back as one of them approached him, its teeth bared. Poongatse pushed the animal away and it retreated, to lie in the long grass. A little shaken, Atsa-wannge’e looked back at Deinde'-paggwe.
“We saw Mi'wasa some miles down the valley,” he said, glancing at Harry, staring in confusion at the little boy with blue eyes and long dark hair. “Word is spreading through the tribe that you’re back, but I didn’t believe it at first. We thought you dead to us all these years, sister.”
He looked across at Poongatse and Wannge’e but with little recognition, for the last time he had seen these girls, they had been nine and ten-year old girls. Now they were young women, with women’s bodies, Wannge’e swollen in pregnancy and Deinde'-paggwe carrying a child on her hip. But he recognized Madeleine.
“How is it that you’re here, Esa-mogo'ne’?” he asked in astonishment. “How is this possible?”
Atsa-wannge’e had been a boy of thirteen when Madeleine left the Snake River Plain with Ryder in 1800. Now he was a young man of almost nineteen, grown almost as tall as his father with the same broad shoulders and strong body. But he favoured his left arm and Madeleine could see the weakness in the limb. And something in his eyes, a depth of pain that hadn’t been there before.
She had never warmed to Atsa-wannge’e, not even as a child for he had been a selfish, ambitious boy. But as he stood before them, unsure, as Deinde'-paggwe step
ped forward to embrace him, her right arm around his left shoulder for she still held Kimana, Madeleine saw him raise his left arm to accept her embrace and as his sleeve pulled away, she saw the cruel wound on his forearm. It had been caused by a knife or an axe and from that hideous wound, understood that Atsa-wannge’e’s days of holding a musket or bow were over. But he had never been a hunter. His first love had always been scouting, roaming the territory, looking for enemies.
When Poongatse stepped forward to embrace her cousin, again Atsa-wannge’e favoured his left arm. But before he could ask them questions, more men arrived pulling packhorses and travois and as that lush field of long grass began to flatten and fill with men and horses and travois, Atsa-wannge’e had no choice but to move. He chose a site for his family’s teepee, close enough to Madeleine and Wannge’e’s teepees yet allowing for privacy and after untying the lodgepoles from the travois, he paused to answer their questions.
Yes, Ese-ggwe’na’a and Paddake’e still lived. Wannge’e’s father and sister and cousins all survived the Hidatsa attack, but not her mother. And Poongatse’s father and older sister still lived, but her mother and brother had perished in the attack. Then he rode off to help the men settle the horses.
The four men who rode up some minutes later didn’t recognize Wannge’e at first. When she saw it was her father and uncle and two of her cousins, she began to cry. Madeleine watched, fearful in case they turned away from her, but they dismounted and came up the bank to welcome her home. And like Atsa-wannge’e, they stepped back when they saw the dogs. Deinde'-paggwe ordered the animals back and they retreated as Wannge’e’s stepped forward to welcome the men, who were bewildered to find her here. That she was pregnant with Te’tukhe’s babe was astonishing news, not only because she was so young, but because Te’tukhe was Ugákhpa, a tribe from distant southern lands. Their reunion was brief, as it had been with Atsa-wannge’e for the men were needed to raise the village before day’s end, but they all knew the storytelling would come later.
Madeleine moved to sit on the bank with Harry and Kimana beside her, the Bannock girls next to them, watching as men dug a massive fire pit, clearing away the long grass and digging a great trench for the dry logs which were being carried down from the forest to burn, while other groups of men rode off to hunt. It was Harry who saw a great dark smudge of movement appear way on the horizon. Madeleine stood up and shaded her eyes against the glare of the day and as she watched, as the smudge moved closer, she saw it was hundreds of women and children walking towards them.
Deinde'-paggwe came to stand beside her and Madeleine could feel her trembling. And as they waited, a lone rider appeared way in the distance, riding before that dark moving mass of women and children. By the time the horse and rider had reached the river, they all knew who it was.
Madeleine felt her heart lurch with relief and joy as she recognized Ryder and the woman who rode behind him. Paddake’e. Ryder had brought her home.
*
Madeleine made a move to run down the bank to go to her, but suddenly stepped back, startled, as Deinde'-paggwe uttered a shrill cry, the longing and grief of the past five years clearly heard in that anguished cry and Madeleine knew this wasn’t her time to go to Paddake’e. This moment belonged to Deinde'-paggwe and Kimana.
With the little girl in her arms, Deinde'-paggwe made her way carefully down the bank then began to run, a stumble more than anything, yet Ryder saw her coming and kicked his horse on across that wide strip of land. But Deinde'-paggwe’s cries were unsettling the horse and Ryder reined the animal in and dismounted, turning to lift the woman down from where she sat behind him. Paddake’e stood utterly still, staring in disbelief at the young woman stumbling towards her with the little girl clasped in her arms.
Ryder mounted his horse and rode towards the bank where he could see Madeleine. He could hear the soft cries of Paddake’e behind him now, but didn’t look back as the women embraced. Madeleine ran down the bank to meet him, to embrace him for bringing Paddake’e home, as the mother and daughter talked, oblivious to anyone but each other.
And amidst the growing noise of chaos and laughter as more women and children arrived at the river, Ryder turned to Madeleine and spoke urgently. “Let me take Harry. He’ll be safer with me on horseback, just until things settle down.”
Harry went willingly enough, his eyes wide with excitement at all these people and horses. Madeleine watched him ride away snuggled in front of his father, sitting in the saddle as Ryder rode on the rump of the horse.
She glanced back towards the river, as women and children removed their moccasins before entering the water, as younger women carried young babes in cradleboards on their backs. And with the coming of the women, the energy of the camp changed from disciplined order, with each man knowing his job, to joyous chaos. Men left their jobs to greet their families, to lift tired children in their arms, to discuss with their wives where to raise their teepees. And because of Ryder, the women also knew of the girls return to the Snake River Plain and many of them turned to utter shrill cries of welcome.
Although it was obvious these cries of joy were also about the Bannock being home, after five long years away.
Madeleine glanced back at Paddake’e. She had turned, as Deinde'-paggwe pointed towards the bank, to where she stood waiting. And then the older woman was coming towards her. Madeleine uttered a deep sob and stepped forward, and then she was running, as if she owned wings.
Five
I embraced her, then stepped back to wipe away my tears, laughing as I looked at her beloved face, seeing the joy there as she looked between me, Deinde'-paggwe and her granddaughter.
Yet grief had aged Paddake’e. Her eyes were dull with it and deep lines lay embedded in her face revealing some of the stress she had known since I saw her last. And as Poongatse and Wannge’e hurried towards us, as other women and girls came running, all of them friends and family, it became impossible to talk. When Kimana started to cry, terrified of all the noise and people beginning to crowd us asking questions, knowing this was my only chance to talk to Paddake’e privately before the men came, I reached out and took Kimana from Deinde'-paggwe, then took Paddake’e’s hand in my own and headed for my teepee. As we crawled inside, Kimana settled immediately and I gave her a piece of fresh bread to eat before turning to Paddake’e.
She shrugged off the bundle she carried on her back with a sigh, as though relieved to be free of it. I knew it contained her handmade clay pots and bone utensils and flints, all her treasures. But they were forgotten as she turned to me.
“You have come home to the Bannock Esa-mogo'ne’, as I knew you would,” she said, her voice as I remembered it. “And you’ve brought Deinde'-paggwe with you, along with Poongatse and Wannge’e. Deinde'-paggwe told me some of what you did and for this we owe you a debt we can never repay.”
I shook my head in dismay. “Deinde'-paggwe gives me too much credit. In truth, I owe her my life. But we shall speak of it later for we have so little time now. But know this Paddake’e. Your daughter is strong and resourceful and fierce. She is worthy of you and Ese-ggwe’na’a.”
Paddake’e nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can see what she has been through, Esa-mogo'ne’. Perhaps one day she will talk of it but until then, I am just grateful to have her home. And with a child for us to love.”
We both turned as we heard women laughing outside. We wouldn’t be alone for much longer.
“The girls told me about Huu’aidi. I can’t begin to imagine your pain because I know what Huu’aidi meant to you and Ese-ggwe’na’a. I wish with all my heart I had been there that day.”
Paddake’e nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. When she looked at me again, I saw a bottomless well of grief there. “You will notice a change in Ese-ggwe’na’a. He is not the man he was. But he saw his beloved son struck down with an axe and his only daughter stolen away, so his life can never be as it was. Yet there is always hope, for here you are along with Deinde
'-paggwe and a granddaughter for us to love.”
We both turned as someone crawled into the teepee. Paddake’e laughed as Deinde'-paggwe looked up at us, speaking urgently, her eyes great pools of emotion. “Come, they’re almost here!”
She gathered up Kimana in her arms and we went back outside and less than half a mile away, I saw a small group of men riding towards us. Harry was sitting before Ryder, with Te’tukhe riding alongside them. On the other side of Ryder, rode Ese-ggwe’na’a and Atsa-wannge’e.
I felt my heart leap at the sight of Ese-ggwe’na’a and took a step towards him, but once again stopped, acutely aware that Paddake’e had moved to put an arm about Deinde'-paggwe’s shoulders, for the girl had begun to cry again. And as before, I knew this moment belonged to her. This was not my time to go to him.
He saw us and raised his head and let out a shrill cry of welcome, a greeting of love. When he reined his horse in and dismounted, Paddake’e gently pushed Deinde'-paggwe and Kimana towards him. Ese-ggwe’na’a held out his arms and we all heard his soft words of love.
Paddake’e took my hand then and we walked towards them, but Paddake’e was crying now, the tears running silently down her face. I saw Ryder dismount, pulling Harry down off the horse but Te’tukhe and Atsa-wannge’e remained where they were, sitting astride their horses.
But as I approached Ese-ggwe’na’a, I saw the fleeting look of distress cross his handsome features, for like Paddake’e he understood at once from looking at Deinde'-paggwe, what she had endured during those five years of captivity. For she was no longer his little girl. She was a mother, yet there was a hardness about her, a haunted knowing look within her eyes which suggested she had known the brutality of men. And I saw the struggle within him as he tried to reconcile that beautiful ten-year-old girl he remembered to the young woman who stood before him now, with a child in her arms born to an enemy. Yet I also saw his love for her. And I knew this special man who had rescued me from death all those years ago, would be the male who helped Deinde'-paggwe find her strength.