Chief Napayshni continued to observe her. He saw the torn dress. It was unmistakably the garb of the wife or daughter of a chief. Her moccasins were beaded, and the whole top of her dress was covered in the porcupine quills she was so proud of. These had been dyed a deep blue, with a paste she had learned how to make with berries. It was a skill few of the women in her camp had mastered. And in spite of her matted hair and dirty arms and face, it was still easy to see how beautiful she was.
“What are you called?” the chief asked her directly. She ignored him. But this time, instead of acting according to maidenly tradition in all tribes, she stared him in the eyes with a look of utter hatred. “You have no name?” he said, looking unimpressed. She was like an angry child, but he knew that other girls in her position would have been terrified, and she wasn’t. He admired that in her. Her bravery was perhaps just an act she was putting on, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of him at all, and he liked that about her. She had spirit, and courage. “You are the daughter of a great chief,” he said, knowing exactly who her father was. The raid on her camp had been no accident, only taking her had been a random act by the braves who saw her and grabbed her, as a prize of war for their chief. And although he would never have said it to them, Napayshni felt sorry for her father. It would surely be a grief to him to lose a daughter such as this, for any man for that matter. And his men had reported that they had killed two of the chief’s sons, and others. The raid had been a great success for them, and a hard blow for Wachiwi’s tribe.
“Then why did you take me?” she asked him, “if you think my father a great chief?” She continued to look him straight in the eye, pretending not to fear him, or what he could do to her now. She had heard stories of kidnapped women who became slaves in other tribes. They were not happy stories, and this was her lot now.
“We did not plan to. They brought you to me as a gift,” he said gently. She looked hardly older than a child.
“Then send me back to my father. I do not want to be your gift.” She stuck her chin out, and her eyes blazed. She had never looked any man in the eye except her father and brothers.
“You are mine now, you with no name. What shall I name you?” He was playing with her a little, so she wouldn’t be frightened of him. Despite his reputation as a warrior and fierce chief, he was a kind man, and her situation touched his heart. He had children too, and he would not have liked his own daughter to be taken by another tribe and given to their chief. The thought of it made him shudder.
“I am Wachiwi,” she said angrily. “I don’t want a Crow name from you.”
“Then I will call you by your own,” he said, signaling to the two women sitting nearby. His own wife was younger and better looking than the one he had inherited from his brother the year before. Wachiwi could see that the older of the two was heavy with child, and she was the one who came forward when her husband called her. “Take her to the river to get clean,” he instructed her. “She needs clothes, until hers can be sewn.”
“Is she our slave now?” the woman asked with interest, and Napayshni said nothing. He owed her no explanation of his plans. He had married her, as was his obligation to his brother, and had now given her his child, that was enough. He did not want Wachiwi as a slave. He wanted her to get used to them so she would not be so hostile with him, and in time, when she had settled into their camp, he was going to make her his wife. She was much prettier and appeared more graceful than the others, and he liked the look of wildfire in her eyes. She was like a wild horse he wanted to tame, and he was sure that he could do it. Like her, he was an outstanding horseman.
Wachiwi followed the pregnant woman and said nothing to her. The woman spoke in the Crow dialect to Napayshni’s other wife, and Wachiwi understood all that they said, although she pretended she didn’t. The chief had spoken to her in her own tongue. And his women were commenting on the quills on her dress and wondered how she got them that color. They hoped that in time maybe she’d teach them. She vowed to herself as she listened to them that she would do nothing for them. Ever.
She washed at the river and they gave her a dress, it was plain and ill fitting, and one of the women handed her a blanket that she wrapped around herself. That night Wachiwi repaired her elkskin dress with the porcupine quills as best she could. Some of the quills had broken when she was thrown over her captor’s horse. She put the dress back on as soon as she had sewn it. It was all she had left of her old life.
Napayshni came into the tipi that night and said nothing to her. He slept at the north side of the tipi, as her father did, and she and the other two women on the south side, with their children. There were seven of them. And the tipi was not as tidy as she had kept her father’s. Two of the children kept waking in the night, and for most of it, Wachiwi lay awake, looking up at the sky through the opening at the top, and wondering how soon she could try to escape. It was all she could think of. She had refused to eat with them, and was determined to go hungry until she could stand it no longer. Later she finally ate some cornmeal cakes when she thought she would faint from starvation, but it was all she ate.
Napayshni got up at dawn to oversee the moving of the camp. Being a smaller village than her own, they moved every few days to follow the buffalo, and find new grazing land for the horses. She had heard that the men were going hunting that day after they set up camp again. Wachiwi was hoping to make a run for it then, if the women were busy, and most of the men were gone. She wanted to check on the three other women from her tribe, but had no opportunity to see them before they broke camp.
They didn’t have far to go to find more buffalo that day, and the men took off in the early afternoon, talking and laughing and in good spirits. She wondered how far she was from her father’s camp. She knew they had traveled three days to get here, but alone, she could travel in a straight line at great speed. All she needed was a good horse and an opportunity to get out of camp.
She wandered around aimlessly, and no one paid attention to her. She had caught a glimpse of one of the women from her tribe but couldn’t speak to her. The other women had each been given to braves at the camp and had no choice in the matter. All Wachiwi wanted to do was run.
There were some horses left after the men rode off, though not the best ones. She spotted one that looked solid and sturdy enough to travel with, though maybe not as fast as she liked. She walked over to pat his neck, looked at his legs, and without making a sound, she untied him, slipped onto his back, lay flat, lying along his side and holding on, and gently urged him out of camp while no one noticed. You couldn’t even see her on him, she had concealed herself on his far side, a trick her brothers had taught her when she was a child, and she had often fooled them and her father with it in later years. It had delighted her father and won her brothers many of their bets.
She got the horse moving fast across the plain toward the trees, before she allowed herself to sit up, and then she pushed him harder. She was going at a fast pace, although he wasn’t as good as the horses she was used to, and then she heard hoofbeats behind her, going even faster than she was. She didn’t dare look back, but only pushed the horse more fiercely. She was nearly at the treeline, going with all the speed she could, when the rider caught up with her, and grabbed her with one powerful arm. It was Napayshni, riding alone. He said nothing to her, but put her in front of him on his own horse, as the one she had been riding slowed, grateful to halt the killing pace she had urged him to, and quietly began to graze. Napayshni slowed his own horse down and reined him in. His was much more lively, and she knew she could have gotten away on it.
“You ride well,” he commented, undisturbed. He liked her spirit, and he had never seen a woman ride as she did. Her father or her brothers had taught her well.
“I thought you were hunting,” she said, her voice shaking, wondering if she would be punished now, or beaten. Maybe even killed. She had been willing to risk it, and knew she would again.
“I had some things to do in camp.
The others went without me.” He had wanted her to think he was gone, to see what would happen if he left her. Now he knew. “Will you do this again if I leave you?” he asked, looking down at her. He thought she looked lovelier than ever, with her cheeks flushed from the heat and the fast ride. She didn’t answer his question, but he knew the answer anyway. She would continue trying to escape until she felt some bond to him, but it would be a long time before that would happen. Maybe not until she was carrying his child. But he didn’t want to rush that either. She had been given to him as a gift, and now he wanted to make her one. He didn’t want to break her spirit, only to tame her, like a wild horse on the plain. He believed that he could do it. He had tamed wild horses before, but nothing as wild or beautiful as she. She was a prize worth having.
They rode in silence back to the camp, with the horse she’d been riding led on a rope by Napayshni. The horse seemed relieved to be freed from his demanding rider. Napayshni kept her in front of him on his horse. He dropped her at his tipi, where the women were sitting, and then went to tie up the horses with the others. It had been an interesting afternoon for him, and a frustrating one for Wachiwi.
He kept a close eye on her that night, and said nothing to the other men. But he watched her for a long time as she lay sleeping, wondering how long it would take to tame her. He hoped it would be soon—he had a powerful hunger for her growing in him, but he didn’t want to make a move too quickly. And for all he knew, if he did, she might try to kill him. She was capable of anything, and afraid of nothing. No girl would have dared what she had tried to do that afternoon, and none would have dared to ride the way she had. He had watched her concealing herself along the side of the horse. Only his best riders were able to do that, and there weren’t many. And none with the ease with which he had seen her do it. She was quite a rider!
They moved camp again three days later, following the buffalo. The men killed some elk and a mule deer. There was abundant meat at the campfires, and they were already tanning the buffalo, and cutting it up to use it.
The Sun Dance was held around the campfire that night, to celebrate the summer months, and give thanks for their good hunting and the plentiful buffalo. Wachiwi stood to one side, watching the men dance. They did a similar dance in her tribe, and she was discovering that their customs were not so different. But all she could think of as she looked at them was that she wanted to go home. She wondered what her father and brothers were doing, and hoped that her father was well. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of her brothers who had been killed, and Ohitekah, and that she might never see her father again, but she hadn’t given up hope yet of making a successful escape. She had been thinking of trying to make a run for it that night, when the men were dancing, but it might be too dangerous to cover rough terrain at night, so she decided to wait. Next time she knew that she had to be sure that Napayshni had left the camp, maybe when they went out in a hunting party that would be away for several days.
She left the campfire early, and ate very little of the meat. She wasn’t hungry, and when she walked into their tipi, she was startled to see one of the chief’s wives writhing in pain. The other one told her that the baby was coming, signaled to Wachiwi, and told her to help. Wachiwi had never been at a birth in her own camp, and she had no idea what to do.
She sat down next to the two women and watched. The one giving birth was crying, and an old woman had come in to help them. And what Wachiwi saw looked horrifying to her, and then with utter amazement, a short time later, she watched the old woman help the baby into the world. She wrapped it tightly in a blanket, put it to its mother’s breast, delivered the afterbirth, and went to bury it outside, as Wachiwi helped clean the young mother up.
By the time Napayshni came back from the Sun Dance, he had a new son. He observed him with cautious interest, nodded, and went to bed. Wachiwi lay on her own mat that night, hoping that would never happen to her. She had been in love with Ohitekah, and the Crow had killed him as they had her brothers. Now she wanted no man, and surely not Napayshni, or to have his child. She knew her days were numbered before he took her as his wife, and she was more anxious than ever to escape.
Napayshni continued to observe her, as they continued to move camp every few days, and the days melted into weeks. One morning, after she had seen him ride out with the men to hunt buffalo, she tried to escape again. She found a better horse this time, and rode even harder than she had before. This time she was followed out of camp by one of the young boys on a faster horse than hers. He had been guarding the horses, and Napayshni had warned him that Wachiwi might try to escape. In desperation to stop her, he shot an arrow at her, which grazed her shoulder and tore her dress. But she didn’t stop for anything, even when she felt it burn. He was almost as good a rider as she, and nearly as fearless, and he was driven by his desire to please his chief.
“You can’t stop me!” Wachiwi shouted at him when he drew close to her. Her shoulder was bleeding through her dress.
“I’ll kill you if I have to!” he answered. “Napayshni wants you back.”
“He’ll have to kill me first. Or you will,” she said, shouting at him, and pulled ahead. It was a race to the death. He followed her for miles and stayed on her heels, and then destiny betrayed her, her horse stumbled, and she had to stop him, or she knew he’d break a leg. Both horses were in a lather when she stopped, and the boy glared at her.
“You’re crazy!” he shouted. Wachiwi looked disheartened, as blood poured down her arm. His arrow hadn’t pierced her, but it had sliced her deep. “Why do you want to run away?”
“I want to go back to my father,” she said, fighting back tears. “He’s old and frail.” The boy was much younger than she was, and he was mystified by her.
“Napayshni will be good to you. You should be married by now anyway, shouldn’t you?” She wondered if she should try to make a run for it again, but she knew that if she did, her horse would be lame before they reached the trees. She had been beaten again.
“I don’t want to be married,” Wachiwi said, looking sullen. “I just want to go home.”
“Well, you can’t,” the boy said practically. “I’m sorry I shot you. Napayshni said to stop you any way I could. Does it hurt?”
“Not at all,” she said blithely, unwilling to admit that it did. Quite a lot in fact.
She rode silently back to camp with him, let him lead away her horse, and went to the river alone to bathe her shoulder, wondering if she would ever get home again. She was beginning to lose hope that she would. And she would rather have been dead than be here. She was momentarily sorry that the boy’s arrow hadn’t killed her, instead of just wounding her. It had stopped bleeding by then, but it was a nasty wound and still hurt. She bathed it with the cool water from the stream and put her dress back on. She was walking back to their tipi when Napayshni rode back into camp. They had killed more buffalo that day than ever before, and he was pleased. He saw her as he rode up and didn’t notice the blood on her dress at first. He was about to say something to her, when she looked up at him with a blank expression and fainted dead away at his horse’s feet.
Napayshni was off his horse in an instant and picked her up. He had no idea what had happened to her, and then he saw the blood seeping through her elkskin dress. He called out to the women, and sent one of them to get the medicine man. He laid Wachiwi on her pallet as she slowly came around and then fainted again.
She was awake by the time the medicine man and an old woman came into the tent. The women had stripped off her dress, and Napayshni was inspecting her wound. His wives said they had no idea what had happened, but Napayshni suspected that she had tried to run away again, and something had gone wrong. And while the medicine man put powder into the wound, and a paste that almost made Wachiwi scream out, he went to find the boy who had been guarding the horses that afternoon.
“Did she try to escape again?” he asked him bluntly, looking ominous, as the boy trembled under the fierce glance.<
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“Yes. She did. You told me to stop her any way I could. So I did.”
“I didn’t tell you to kill her. You might have, shooting her in the shoulder like that. You could have grazed her leg.”
“I didn’t have time. She was going so fast. My horse could hardly keep up with her.”
“I know,” Napayshni answered. “She rides like the wind. Be more careful next time. What did she say when you brought her back?”
“That she misses her father and he’s old and sick. I told her it will be better for her here, with you.” He smiled shyly at his chief.
“Thank you. I won’t tell anyone about this, and I don’t want you to either.” If anyone had known he was so concerned about his captive, they would have thought he was an old woman, not the chief. He wasn’t about to become a laughingstock for her, no matter how beautiful she was. “You shot a bird and you missed. You’re a terrible shot, Chapa. Isn’t that right?” He coached him in what he was to say.
“Yes, it is.” He knew better than to argue with his chief. He had shot a bird. And he missed. That was the story, no matter how humiliating it might be for him.
Napayshni went back to the tipi then, and Wachiwi was sleeping with some potion they had given her. The medicine man and the old woman had left, and Wachiwi was dead to the world. She stirred once, and then fell into a deep sleep again as he left the tent.
She slept until the next morning, and she looked groggy when she got up, startled to be wearing only a blanket and not her dress, which was neatly folded next to her. She saw the blood on it and remembered what had happened the day before. Her attempt to escape had failed again. She was overwhelmed with sadness as she got up and put on her dress. She noticed then that there was blood on her moccasins as well.
Napayshni saw her as she came out of the tent. She looked as though she was in no condition to attempt an escape today. She looked tired and sick, and disoriented from the powerful potion they had made her drink.
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