Two Owls scrutinized Nate’s profile. “If life in the stone villages is so easy, why did you travel to the mountains to live?”
“I was tricked.”
“How?”
“An uncle claimed he would give me a great treasure if I came, so I did. As it turned out, he did not own the kind of treasure I thought he did.”
“You came for money?”
“Yes.”
“I know about the money whites receive for the beaver pelts they collect. Why are your people so interested in having something you cannot eat and cannot wear? What purpose does your money serve?”
“Whites like to own money for the same reasons Indians like to own horses. The more they have, the richer they are.”
“But horses have a purpose. They can be ridden or used to haul belongings or eaten when game is scarce. What can you do with money?”
“Buy clothes and food and land.”
“Ah. You use money to trade for things you want, much like we trade one thing for another, such as horses for a woman.”
“Yes.”
“Why not trade directly? Why use money at all?”
The persistent questions began to annoy Nate. He wanted to keep his mind on the task at hand, not be distracted by idle chatter about the white man’s economic system. “Because money is easier to carry in a pocket than a horse,” he replied.
Two Owls chuckled. “I think I understand now, but your ways still seem strange to me.”
Nate made no sign, hoping the Ute would do the same. No such luck.
“Will you go back to the stone villages to live one day?”
“Not if I can help it. I like the mountains.”
“What does your guardian spirit want you to do?”
“My what?”
“Your guardian spirit. You must have gone on a vision quest and talked to the spirit being who watches over you.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Guardian spirits teach us proper prayers and songs to use when addressing the spirit world. They also reveal which objects are most sacred to us and will protect us from harm. Every Ute has a guardian spirit. If your people do not, it would explain a lot of things.”
Nate recalled a passage from the Bible he’d read in Sunday School when a boy. Although he couldn’t quote it, he remembered the general thrust. “Now I know what you mean. My people have another word for them. They call such things guardian”—he began in sign and finished in English—“angels.”
“Angels?” Two Owls said awkwardly, rolling the word on his tongue.
Nate was going to repeat the word when a harsh screech of rage arose up ahead.
Chapter Ten
Two Owls reined his stallion to the left and motioned while barking a few words in the Ute tongue.
Turning the mare, Nate hurried into the trees, leading the other horses into concealment. No sooner did the last of the pack animals reach cover than several figures appeared to the west, running along the bank. Nate was stunned to see Thaddeus Baxter out in front, pursued by two speedy Blackfeet. The Ohioan was trying to escape!
Baxter raced awkwardly, his bound arms throwing off his stride, but he maintained surprising speed nonetheless. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder again and again, desperation on his face.
For their part, the Blackfeet bounded like fleet deer. One held a war club, another a bow. They were confident of overtaking their quarry and did not exert themselves to their utmost.
Nate wanted to shout, to let Baxter know he was there, but such a move would have been foolish. The other Blackfeet were sure to appear any second.
The Ohioan didn’t get very far, fifty feet at most. He was looking back one more time when his left foot snagged in a clump of weeds and down he went, pitching onto his face and upper chest. Before he could do more than rise to his knees the Blackfeet were there, each grabbing an arm and brutally yanking him erect.
Damn the bastards all to hell! Nate thought, raising the Hawken, ready to fire if they acted as if they were going to kill Baxter. Hang the consequences! He couldn’t just sit there and let the man be slain.
But the warriors only wheeled and half-pulled, half-dragged the feebly struggling trapper off.
How had Baxter managed to break away from them? Nate wondered. He watched until the trio was lost to view and glanced at the Ute. “That was close.”
“We will let them get a ways ahead and follow their tracks.”
“I am not much of a tracker.”
Two Owls grinned. “I am one of the best in my village. We will not lose them.”
Nate studied the warrior for a moment. “Will you help me save my friends?” he asked.
“I came back mainly to kill Blackfeet.”
“Will you help me?” Nate repeated, puzzled as to why the Ute avoided the question.
“I will do what I can,” Two Owls signed enigmatically.
They fell silent and stayed hidden for ten minutes, then moved out and trailed the war party. Nate noticed a somber, thoughtful expression on the Indian, but didn’t pry. He was glad for the chance to think and plan. His best bet for freeing his friends would be late at night, when most or all of the Blackfeet should be asleep. But if they made forts every night, how could he get his friends out undetected? The problem seemed unsolvable.
For over an hour the tracks led west along the stream. Two Owls raised his right hand and halted when they reached a spot where the stream narrowed and the bank was low. He leaned over the side of his mount and scanned the soft earth intently, then straightened and pointed at the opposite side. “They have crossed here.”
“Lead on,” Nate said.
Due north was the new direction, over a series of hills and around the base of a snow-capped peak. The sun rose ever higher and the shadows in the narrow gorges and valleys lengthened.
Nate expected the band to stop now and then to rest, but the Blackfeet kept pushing on. Why were they in such a hurry? Simply to get home? Or did they have a rendezvous with another band planned? If the latter, his problems were compounded. Fourteen Blackfeet were more than enough. Any more and a rescue became virtually impossible.
The afternoon waxed and waned and the sun dipped toward the western horizon.
“They will halt soon to make camp for the night,” Two Owls said.
“I hope so.”
“Once they do, we must find a suitable spot to make our camp, somewhere we can safely build a fire.”
“No fire.”
“If we pick carefully they will never spot it.”
“No fire. I have plenty of bear meat. We do not need to cook food.”
Two Owls frowned and seemed about to argue the point. Instead he faced forward and made no comment.
Only half the sun was visible when the Blackfeet finally halted for the night. They encamped in a ravine between two mountains where they were sheltered from the elements and secure from searching eyes.
Nate would never have known they were there if not for the Ute. The two of them were following the trail and were within a quarter of a mile of the ravine when Two Owls looked up to survey the countryside and spotted a pair of Blackfeet emerging from the erosion-caused defile; he halted and gestured for Nate to do the same.
With bows in hand, apparently going to hunt meat for their supper, the two Blackfeet headed westward into dense woodland.
Two Owls moved to the left and went four hundred yards, stopping in the shelter of a barren hillock. “This is as good a spot as any to stay tonight.”
“Are we safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere else.”
“I mean are we too close to the Blackfeet?”
“No. They will not stray far from their camp. We should build a fort or lean-to of our own to shield us from the wind. We are at a much higher elevation than we were this morning and the temperature can drop drastically by morning,” Two Owls disclosed. “We would be better off with a fire.”
“No fire.”
“You are a stubborn man, Grizzly Killer.”
Nate set about feeding the horses. There was no water nearby, but they had slaked their thirst at the stream earlier when they were crossing and that drink would have to tide them over until the morning. He hobbled them and removed the packs, took out a handful of dried meat, then stepped over to where the Ute sat at the base of a cottonwood tree. “Would you like some bear meat?”
“Yes.”
Sharing the handful equally, Nate sat down and sighed. He chewed on a strip and contemplated his predicament.
“Do you know how you will save your friends yet?”
“No. Maybe you can help me with an idea. Tell me what the Blackfeet do between evening and dawn.”
“That is easy. They make their forts first. Then some go after food using only bows or lances. Fusees are never fired in enemy territory for obvious reasons, except in an emergency. The game is cleaned and cooked, and after eating they sit around talking or singing until late.”
“In this case they post guards all night to watch the prisoners?”
“Of course. They probably take turns.”
“At what point during the night would most of them undoubtedly be asleep?”
“Shortly before dawn everyone except the guards will be sound asleep. Do you think you will make your try then?”
“Seems to be the best time,” Nate said. “But I need a distraction to draw their attention and keep them busy.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“By all means.”
“Fire.”
“Set the forts on fire?”
“Unless you would prefer to set the entire forest on fire.”
“I have already considered torching the forts and I think it would be too dangerous. My friends could be slain before I get to them.”
“They will definitely be slain if you do not do something, and this is the best idea.”
Nate mentally debated the merits of the scheme in depth. He couldn’t ask for a better distraction. If the Blackfeet constructed three forts each night, he’d only have to set the two not containing his friends ablaze. The cries of the warriors inside would draw the guards from the third fort, and in the confusion of the flames and the smoke he might be able to get Shakespeare and Baxter out. “I think it is the best idea.”
“I thought you would.”
“What will you be doing while I am crawling up to the forts to set them on fire?”
The Ute laughed. “Why must you do everything the hard way?”
“I do not understand.”
“If you try crawling right up to the forts and starting the fires there, the guards are bound to hear you. Why not light two torches and carry them behind you until you are close enough to set the forts on fire? The guards will not have time to react and the forts will swiftly be engulfed in flames. You can be in and out before the Blackfeet dogs have time to piss themselves.”
Another excellent suggestion. Nate signed as much.
“My people have had many years of experience battling the Blackfeet. We have learned a few tricks in that time.”
“The Utes are known far and wide as powerful fighters,” Nate truthfully noted. “I am surprised the Blackfeet travel such a great distance to raid your villages.”
“That is why they come.”
“Again I do not understand.”
Leaning against the trunk, Two Owls explained patiently. “The greater the enemy, the greater the glory. Why count coup on dogs when you can count them on panthers?”
“You are telling me the Blackfeet like to raid the Utes because they know your people are tough in warfare?”
“Yes. I do not know how it is with you whites, but Indians measure the might of a tribe by the might of its enemies. Do you ever hear of the Blackfeet raiding the Otos or the Iowas?”
“No,” Nate admitted.
Two Owls grunted. “Because the Blackfeet would not soil their hands fighting such pathetic adversaries. The Otos, Iowas, and others are weak, and the Blackfeet will not stoop to granting such weaklings the distinction of being their enemies.”
Nate was astonished by the information. No one had ever told him about this aspect of Indian affairs. “You almost sound like you admire the Blackfeet. I thought you hated them.”
“I hate them, but I am wise enough to admire their fighting skill.”
“Do all tribes share this philosophy?”
“Some. Not all. Only the best.”
The man’s proud boasting almost made Nate chuckle, but he wisely refrained. They ate for a while. Two Owls requested more meat, which Nate gladly provided. Twilight descended.
“One last time I will urge you to agree to a fire,” the Ute said.
A nip already was in the air. Nate gazed at the snow crowning the mountains and felt a slight chill. Even with blankets, by morning they would be extremely uncomfortable. He glanced at the slope of the hillock, calculating. “I doubt the Blackfeet would see our smoke.”
“They will not,” Two Owls said, sitting forward, sensing victory. “I will build a lean-to and we will place the fire inside. Most of the smoke will be dispersed before it rises as high as the trees.”
Nate had used the same trick once himself, against the Utes. He reluctantly nodded. “All right. Build your fire.”
With enthusiastic alacrity Two Owls set up a sizeable lean-to and got a small fire going underneath, in the center. When satisfied with his handiwork he sat back and rubbed his hands together over the flickering flames. “I am glad you finally agreed. I was afraid we would come to blows.”
“Why?”
Two Owls looked at him. “If you had said no I was going to build a fire anyway.”
Nate couldn’t help but laugh. He liked the man, despite his arrogance.
“Will you try to rescue your friends tonight?”
“Since you know the ways of the Blackfeet better than I do, what would you recommend?”
“I would wait until tomorrow night. The farther they travel, the less of a chance they will be expecting pursuit. You will take them completely by surprise.”
“Do you think we could lose their trail tomorrow?”
“No. I can track a snake over solid rock. And there is no bad weather to worry about.”
“How do you know?”
Two Owls made a sweeping motion toward the nearest peaks. “I have lived here all my life. I can determine the weather we will have by the taste of the air.”
Lord, what a braggart! Nate nodded as if he believed the statement, and stared at the forest. Having another day worked out well, gave him time to steel his nerves for the attempt. He felt confident the Blackfeet would not harm his friends until then. By the day after tomorrow the three of them would be en route to his cabin. The beaver would have to wait until another time. Next year, maybe.
“Grizzly Killer?”
“Yes?”
“How many coups have you counted?”
Nate cocked his head. Why ask such a personal question? Then he recollected that warriors from many tribes boasted of their exploits after the fact; indeed, they were expected to relate the details to the entire tribe at special ceremonies. How many had he killed? He honestly couldn’t recall. “I have lost count,” he replied.
Two Owls was dumbfounded for a moment. He recovered his composure and leaned forward. “How can a man forget how many enemies he has killed?”
“My people do not keep track of such things.”
“You do not count coup?”
“No.”
Two Owls clucked and shook his head. “Truly you whites are a strange race. There must be a purpose for your existence, but I cannot imagine what it is. You do not seem to know anything about the right way to live. When I tell my people all I have learned, they will think I exaggerated.”
“You?” Nate responded, and hid his broad grin by feeding a branch to the flames.
Chapter Eleven
The next day began with a flurry of act
ivity.
A strong hand shaking Nate’s right shoulder awoke him before the sun appeared on the eastern horizon. Stars still dominated the heavens. Blinking in momentary confusion, he looked up at Two Owls, then sat and rubbed his eyes. A nip in the air made him shiver. “What is it?”
“What do you think? We must be ready to leave by sunrise.”
“But this early?”
“Would you rather they started without us?”
Nate recalled the frantic search of the day before and shook his head. “I will be ready quickly.” He threw off his blanket, noticed the fire had dwindled to smoldering embers, and stretched. His first priority was relieving his bladder; then he attended to loading the packs on the horses and preparing the mare for travel. Checking all his guns came next. The Ute made no effort to help and Nate wasn’t about to ask. A rosy glow painted the sky in the east by the time he finished.
“No wonder the Blackfeet got a head start on you yesterday,” Two Owls joked. “You take half a day just getting ready to leave.”
Grinning more out of courtesy than any keen appreciation of the Ute’s sense of humor, Nate went to the fire and stomped it out. He climbed on the mare and signed, “After you.”
Two Owls rode slowly around the hillock until he had a clear view of the ravine. He held up his hand and halted.
Pushing against the stirrups so he could stand in the saddle, Nate was able to see the country beyond. He involuntarily stiffened at the sight of Shakespeare and Baxter being pushed and prodded northward. Both men were ringed by Blackfeet; apparently the band had no intention of letting a repeat of yesterday’s escape attempt occur. At their head walked White Bear.
Not until the war party disappeared in the distance did Two Owls goad his stallion forward.
Nate arched his spine to alleviate stiffness in his lower back, and resigned himself to another day of tedious tracking. His inner thighs ached from all the riding he’d done, which gave him a little added incentive to free his friends. In his mind’s eye he reviewed his plans for the rescue, going over it again and again, plotting for contingencies.
By mid-morning the temperature had climbed into the sixties. By noon the sun shone down mercilessly on the two of them and their animals and the air hung like a sweltering, heavy robe over the landscape.
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